Normal
by Lizzieturbo
Summary: “Rems,” Rogue said with a chuckle, “ya’re not normal, ya know that?” Remy did, in fact, know that. It was becoming more apparent the more time he spent at the X-Mansion. An introspective on Remy in an X-man world, which of course means ROMY. FINAL CHAPTER
1. Normal

"Rems," Rogue said with a chuckle, "ya're not normal, ya know that?"

Remy did, in fact, know that. Though he had known it for some time, the fact was becoming painfully obvious the more time he spent at the X-mansion, where the occupants, despite their superhero status, were surprisingly normal.

First growing up on the streets, and then subsequently being raised by the Thieves Guild, Remy LeBeau understood that he lived a life outside the normal rules of society. However, those rules for the most part seemed illogical to him, and he had, for most of his life, assumed they were the sort of well-intentioned guidelines that most people understood and acknowledged on the surface, but very few actually followed, like no swimming for twenty minutes after eating.

He was quickly learning that, for most of his life, he had been wrong. Despite his earlier assumptions, he had absolutely no idea what it meant to be 'normal'.

These revelations came in forms both big and small. Today's revelations came as he was sitting in the mansion's library with Rogue, thumbing through a book and watching her as she did her homework. In the past few weeks he had taken to becoming her shadow, as she had been the main component in his decision to join the X-men. He had become intrigued with her during his time as an Acolyte, mostly due to her unusual and unfortunate mutant powers, as well as the spark in her eyes and, of course, the swell of her breasts. That intrigue had grown into general feelings of interest and concern as he spent time researching her (another thing he learned later was 'not normal'. Logan had used the unseemly term 'stalking', which Remy took great offense to). During their little trip to New Orleans, they formed a sort of friendship that only grew as Rogue began calling his cell phone a week later. As time went by, he found himself anxiously waiting for her calls, and eventually the only joy he took in life was the sound her of voice on the other end of the line. And so, when an unfortunate series of events lead to his exile from New Orleans, he decided to take up the offer to join Rogue with the X-men. Despite the fear that gripped him when he thought about the feelings he had for her, he found that simply being in the girl's presence brought him a sense of peace and happiness he hadn't known since he was first taken in by a family. This was how he found himself with her, idly skimming through the thoughts of David Theroux (a suggestion from Hank) as Rogue worked on her Calculus homework. Suddenly, her head had popped up from her paper, and she idly began nibbling on the end of her pencil.

"Remy, whadda ya want t' be when ya grow up?"

It was, perhaps, the strangest question he had ever been asked. What did he want to _be_? He tried to figure out what kind of answer she could possibly be looking for, but came up short. Was it possible for him to _be_ anything, other than himself?

"Wat do I wan' t' _be_?" he repeated, for lack of a better response.

"Yeah, what do ya wanna do?" She asked again, then smiling playfully, she added, "Ya know, when ya _grow up_."

He had heard the term 'grow up' before, usually in the context of "Oh Remy, grow up!", and usually when he was playfully charming a woman whose bed he hoped to fill that evening. And so he answered Rogue's question in the only way that seemed to make sense at the moment.

"Get laid."

She stared at him as if he had grown a second head, before quickly recovering and laughing lightly, once again giving him the title of 'not normal', followed, unfortunately, by 'the look'. 'The look', as Remy was quickly becoming accustomed to, was somewhat of a cross between amusement and pity. He assumed it was similar to the look one has while watching a fly try to escape out a closed window. He hated the look. And he had been getting it quite a lot since he had entered this realm of 'normal'.

Kitty gave him 'the look' a lot. Apparently, the brunette was incredibly normal, despite using the word 'like' with great frequency and in forms that Remy knew were not grammatically correct. While Rogue's version of 'the look' was softened by the small intimate moments they would occasionally share together, Kitty's 'look' made him feel very small and ignorant, reminding him of his experiences as a young child coming off the streets and into the strange world of the Lebeau mansion. But he was not a child, and was not, as the look seemed to imply, a bumbling idiot. He simply had, in his 19 years, failed to learn many aspects of what was to be considered 'normal', a problem that he was quickly remedying in his new living arrangements.

One of these aspects was television. Now, Remy was not some third-world native; he knew what a television was, had watched quite a few (though his first real encounter was during the odd experience of 'downtime' at Magneto's Base), and he already knew, as Kitty had snidely joked, that "the images in the 'magic box' can't, like, come out and grab you. It's all _pretend_". What was new to him, however, was the relationship normal people seemed to have with the television. Kitty seemed to be very possessive of certain shows. "Oh my gosh, Remy, you, like, can't ask any more questions for the next hour. I'm watching my show!" He had received one of her 'looks' when he innocently inquired how she had ownership of a television series. He also found that normal people carried around a lot of useless knowledge about the airing of television shows. Most shows were aired on a certain schedule, which made sense of course, but apparently normal people had these schedules memorized, and it was reasonable to expect that memorization from everyone else. "_Remy_, it's Tuesday, 8 o'clock, hello!" was supposed to mean "Please turn to channel 13 so I can watch 'Shadows'", and "Duh, it's, like, still technically summer" was supposed to mean "this episode is a rerun that I've already seen". And although she had mocked his own understanding of the illusion of television, Kitty herself didn't seem to have a firm grasp on it.

"Oh my gosh, Rogue, I was, like, SO mad at Ryan. When he left Haylie outside that theater and just, like, drove off, I swear, I was, like, _this_ close to strangling him. If she takes him back, I swear, I'm going to, like, scream."

"Dese _amis_ o' yours?"

Insert 'the look'. "Rogue, your boyfriend is, like, totally weird."

Normal people also had what Remy considered to be an unnatural relationship with their possessions. He had an intimate understanding of death, and knew that it didn't matter how many cars one owned or how much money one had stuffed under a mattress somewhere when your lifeblood runs fast and hot onto the cold hard pavement of a city street. You take nothing with you. The material things of life were fleeting, as Remy saw it, merely instruments for one's comfort if so fortunate as to acquire them. But the absolute self-righteous claim of pure ownership that normal people seemed to have over their possessions seemed absurd.

Now, Remy of course knew that stealing was considered 'wrong'. It was against the law, after all, but perhaps it was because he had never gotten caught and seemed to be able to do so without abandoned that he always figured it was considered sort of a lesser crime, condemned by its victims more than anyone else. He had assumed it was not a more widely popular activity simply because others lacked both the audacity and the skill to do so, and Remy had the two in spades. After all, as a child of the street, thieving was necessary for survival, and as a part of the Guild, it was simply the family business. Magneto had had no problem with it, in fact, that was the reason he was contracted out to the terrorist, in addition to his fighting skills. Charles Xavier felt very differently on the matter. When he arrived at the manor, the rules were made clear to him: as long as he was an X-man, his life as a thief was over. Remy was fine with this; all institutions had rules, even Magneto (no fighting around the expensive equipment) and the Guild (no shoes in Tante's kitchen). Of course, the frequent muddy footprints on Tante's tile floors were proof that Remy believed rules were meant to be broken.

When he had first arrived, Remy was shocked to learn that none of the bedrooms in the mansion had locks on the doors. When he had commented on it, Logan had grunted something about privacy being the _last _thing a bunch of teenagers needed. Remy could care less about privacy, he had a nice body and the entire team could watch him sleep in the nude if they felt so inclined, it made no difference to him. He was also very comfortable with his sexuality and needed neither privacy nor the cover of darkness to express it. However, an unlocked door was simply an invitation to those items that lay inside. If one wished to keep their possessions for the time being, they must protect them, otherwise they are open game for anyone else who may also wish to keep them. That was simple logic. Even the LeBeau mansion was fitted with locks for each door, which of course were more of a symbolic message than anything, seeing as everyone who lived there could pick a lock as easily as picking their teeth. He had quickly amended his own door, and, incorrectly, as he later learned, assumed that the others' choice not to do so was the invitation he needed.

His first week gained him few friends. Bobby and Scott were his hardest hit victims. The former had an abundance of trivial and childish items that fascinated Remy (comic books, candy necklaces, baseball cards), and the latter had a surprisingly sophisticated collection of cds and shoes. But the other inhabitants of the mansion were not immune to his sticky fingers as he gave into his deeper urges to snoop during the quiet school hours. After four days of items randomly coming up missing, it was clear to all that the recent addition of the resident thief was the cause of the "misplaced" items. Thankfully, it was decided during a secret 'team meeting' that Rogue would talk to her friend before either the Professor or Logan were involved. The calm and patient manner in which she had approached Remy, much like a mother gently scolding an impish child, had humiliated him to no end. He had quickly realized the foolishness of his actions and admonished himself for potentially screwing up his chance at a new life.

"'m sorry, Rogue. If ya don' wan' me stealin' stuff, I won' do dat."

"Ok, sugah. But…ah… ya do know it's wrong ta steal from ya're teammates, don'cha?"

And that was when 'the look' started.

Remy had also been dismayed to learn that once again he had to amend his way of thinking when it came to the matter of food. As a small child, food on the streets was hard to come by. When he was taken in my the LeBeau family, it had been a humbling experience, even as a child, to learn the proper relationship to have with food. Never having had enough to eat, the incident of learning to stop eating when one is full, not when all the available food is gone, was a painful memory. The general idea of sitting at a table at set times, and eating from a plate with utensils was one that took both time and practice to master. Remy had thought that his days of embarrassing himself in a kitchen were behind him; he was wrong.

He soon learned that some food was 'everyone's food' and some food was 'not Remy's'. Though the distinction seemed obvious to everyone else, he for the life of him could not figure it out. Not enjoying the shrill sound of Kitty's shriek when she discovered he was using _her _soy milk on his cereal, he had resorted to perpetually asking permission before pouring any liquid into his bowl.

"_Yes, _Remy, you can use the milk", sighed Jean, Scott, Bobby, Sam, Roberto, Kurt, Jubilee, Tabitha, Rogue, Hank, Storm, or whoever happened to be in the kitchen that morning. It was an annoying routine for everyone involved.

Logan, at least, had simplified the matter when it came to his own 'off-limit' items. Upon entering the kitchen one evening to find Remy downing his second beer (it had been a crappy day. Rogue had had after-school detention, and he'd received a lecture from Scott about answering Jamie's questions about his past sexual partners. Apparently 'normal people' did not discuss the technical aspects of a menage a trois with preteens. Go figure), he stopped cold and glared at the Cajun.

"What do ya think yer doin', Gumbo?"

"Gettin' drunk", he had replied simply. It seemed a stupid question that deserved an stupid answer.

"Who said you could drink that?"

Remy had been puzzled, though part of his confusion may have had to do with the Canadian ale working through his system.

"I can't?" Logan had never had a problem with his under-age drinking before. Remy had suspected that he was an exception to this rule simply because Logan secretly enjoyed having a drinking buddy at Harry's.

Logan chuckled, seemingly finding the young man's intoxication amusing. "Well, did you pay for that beer?"

Remy's face was still the picture of confusion. "No." That particular argument had little impact on the Cajun, seeing as he rarely paid for anything.

Logan shook his head, smiling to himself. "Look," pointing at the fridge, "if there's beer in there, it's mine. Don't drink my beer."

And with that he had left. Remy sighed happily and leaned back in his chair. Finally someone around here was making sense.

Slowly, though, other things began to make sense as well. Remy was not a unintelligent young man, he simply had to learn a new set of rules for these new experiences. Being in a 'relationship', as Kitty frequently liked to point out, was one of these new experiences. He thought that he'd been in a 'relationship' before, with Belladonna. They had been engaged to be married nearly as long as he'd been a LeBeau. According to Kitty, what he had with Bella was not a proper 'relationship'.

"Oh my gosh! Like, what are you _doing_!!" she had exclaimed in that horribly shrill manner. It was early morning, the first Sunday he was at the manor. He had just dragged himself in from a night, and apparently morning, out. Kitty had found him in the entryway, still half-drunk and smelling of women's perfume, and instantly grabbed him by the collar, roughly dragging him into the kitchen before anyone, particularly Rogue, saw him.

Pulling him to the sink, she began frantically scrubbing at the lipstick stain on his neck with a dishrag as he feebly tried to avoid her attack in his inebriated state.

"If Rogue finds you like this, she'll, like, kill you! That is, if I haven't decided to, like, kill you myself first." She frowned as she continued her furious scrubbing. "I thought you loved her. Isn't that why you came here?" Blue eyes looked up pleadingly into red on black.

Remy didn't understand. "I do care 'bout her." He carefully changed her wording to something he was more comfortable admitting, even to himself. "Dis had not'ing t' do wit' her. Wit' Rogue it's one t'ing, dis was somet'ing dif'rent. It was jus' a _femme_, I don' even know her name. It meant not'ing."

It seemed that Kitty believed the sincerity in his voice. She sighed and stopped her ministering. "Look, you just can't do this, ok? You're in a relationship now, got it? When you're in a relationship, you don't, like, sleep around. It may not mean anything to you, but it'll, like, totally mean something to Rogue."

The fact that this inexperienced little _fille_ was lecturing him on his sex life was irritating. "Wat de hell do ya know 'bout it anyway?" He had loved Bella, in his own way, and had slept with countless others during the years of their engagement. He was sure she had done the same. What he did at night had nothing to do, in his opinion, with love. It was simply an urge he could not resist, as he was not very good at resisting urges anyway.

A voice startled the pair from the small breakfast nook on the other side of the room.

"I do believe the girl is right, Mr. LeBeau." Beast did not look up from his morning paper as he sipped his coffee. Neither Kitty nor Remy had noticed him when they entered the kitchen, which was odd, considering he was a four-hundred pound mutant covered in blue fur. "Although I am hardly an expert on matters of the heart, I do believe that women place a great deal of importance on fidelity."

Kitty tried to swallow her shock. "Um, that's right. We, like, do. So this whole 'ladies man' thing you've got going on, it's got to stop. And it's not just the sex, you've got stop flirting with everyone." Remy rolled his eyes. Even _he_ knew some things were impossible. "Ok, you've got to, like, cut back on the flirting. And quit pawing everything in a skirt. Like, hands to yourself!"

"_Merde, chaton_!" Remy exclaimed, suddenly tiring of her criticism. "How de hell 'm I suppos' t' do dat?! It ain't like I sit 'round plottin' de way I act, I just… act."

"Hmmm…" Hank contemplated as he continued to read his paper. "Sounds to me like you have a psychological need to touch." He folded his paper lazily. "Of course, that's another matter in which I cannot claim to be an expert." Finally, he looked up at the two standing at the sink. "Perhaps you should have a chat with the Professor. That is his area of expertise, after all."

Hank looked upon Remy expectantly, waiting for the young man to agree with his suggestion. Remy almost laughed. The idea of him having a one-on-one session with a psychologist, or even worse, a _telepathic _psychologist, was completely absurd. He'd rather shove bamboo sticks up his fingernails than let a spook run around inside his head, that and (gasp) talk about his feelings. But Hank's hopeful gaze promised not to move from him until Remy made some sort of acknowledgement, so the Cajun conjured up his best winning smile and lied through his teeth.

"Sure, _Henri_, dat sounds like a good idea. I'll talk wit him sometime." Of course, he no intention of doing any such thing. "T'anks for de… 'relationship' advice, _chaton_, but I'm goin' t' head upstairs an' get cleaned up." She grabbed for him, but he cut her off before she could speak. "I'll be sure t' avoid Rogue, don' worry."

Even though he still considered Kitty to be an ignorant virgin, Hank's comments troubled him. Days later he found the words still rung in his mind. Although not usually one for self-examination, Remy knew it was important for a thief to be familiar with both his strengths and his weaknesses. Almost unconsciously he found himself one day in the mansion's deserted library while the younger X-men were at school. Though generally small in size, the library had an extensive collection of books on psychology, given the Professor's background.

After a great deal of skimming, Remy began reading a section on childhood sexual trauma. Suddenly finding himself reading a version of his current self in conjunction with memories of an unfortunate necessity for a child living on the streets, he found the book to be coldly accurate, and slammed it closed with a distinct snap. Hands shaking and skin more clammy than he wanted to admit, he shoved the offending book in far corner shelf where it could no longer mock him with it's knowledge of his inner workings. So much for self-examination. Bottom-line: normal people don't sleep around. Not wanting to confirm the book's assessment of him, he vowed from that day to be 'normal', at least in those regards.

He did find, however, that some things that 'normal' people did, he actually enjoyed. With most of the manor's inhabitants enrolled in school, and Jean and Scott enrolled at the local community college, at first Remy's days tended to be long, lonely, and boring. In these off-times with Magneto he subcontracted himself out for the odd heist, and although those offers still came occasionally, he felt he should abstain. Although Xavier had given him a 'no stealing' rule, he was still pocketing the smaller items he required for his everyday life. It was more suspicious than not that the Professor had not made mention of the fact that Remy seemed to be able to keep himself supplied with cigarettes and playing cards despite having no monetary income. The Cajun knew he was being granted this leeway and had no intention of pushing it. And so, he found himself filling his time doing… normal things.

The thing about a house filled with teenagers (some of whom had a mutant ability with the potential for destruction) was that there was always work to be done. Logan was in charge of the larger maintenances of the manor, and Remy enjoyed being a silent second set of hands. His relationship with the feral man seemed to depend on the circumstance. It was clear that his care-free attitude and rebellious antics in the Danger Room irked Logan to no end, which of course merely added fuel to the fire. Remy was self-aware enough to know that he had a real problem with authority and an almost physical need to push boundaries. But the joy it brought him to see the deep furrow in Logan's brow accompanied by that low irritated growl was too good for him to resist. It was also clear that the alpha-male was none too comfortable with the young man's undefined relationship with the girl he called 'Stripes'. Threats were made on a continual basis regarding the matter, usually describing the danger of certain body parts being severed from certain Cajuns.

But there were times outside those circumstances that Logan almost seemed to appreciate Remy's company, and the feeling was mutual. Remy had been surprised the first time Logan invited him to join him at the bar. Well, 'invited' may be too strong a word. It was more of a grunt, followed by "I'm goin' to Harry's. You comin'?". Never being one to turn down a drink, Remy had eagerly hopped on his bike and followed, hoping that this wasn't a trap to get him kicked out of the mansion. It hadn't been. Apparently, Logan found the need for a drinking companion that didn't quote Shakespeare and drone on endlessly about the current state of the scientific community. It also turned out that, in the setting of a night out, Logan actually found the young man amusing. Remy knew that he was in top form when slightly tipsy, and was usually the life of the party (unless he'd gone drinking to brood, which happened a fair amount). It gave him a huge sense of accomplishment to make Logan chuckle and even, when he was really on his game, smile.

The two also frequently shared a comfortable silence while working on larger projects during the day, like maintaining the team's vehicles in the garage or fixing damage to the Danger Room. Remy found it was relaxing not to need his usual façade of the class clown. The man's animal instincts could see through the mask (when it was one) anyway, but despite that, Logan wasn't the type of person to try to delve into another's past or feelings. There was no need for deep conversation as they worked side by side. As long as Remy handed him the correct tool and carried his own weight on a project, that was all that was required. It was almost soothing to simply be able to work with his hands and be, on occasion, quiet.

When the bigger projects thinned out, there was always a perpetual list of smaller chores to be done around the mansion. The idea of spending his time doing housekeeping seemed demeaning to Remy, but Storm had brought up an interesting point.

"**Gambit**! If you cannot keep those infernal hands still for **five** seconds, why don't you busy them with something _useful_!" She had suddenly snapped, breaking her usually peaceful exterior after he'd broken off a third leaf from one of her potted plants he'd taken to pawing disinterestedly. She proceeded to toss a small rag at him, with a little more force than necessary. "You can start by dusting off my pots. Touch one more leaf and you die." The threat had lacked her usual eloquence, but it got the message across.

Interestingly enough, Remy found that the simple chores that needed done around the mansion did actually help alleviate the excess energy that seemed to always be running through his hands since his mutation had surfaced. He found that it was rather relaxing to spend his days scrubbing counters, drying dishes, hand-waxing the floors, etc. And since the Professor had limited his Danger Room sessions to once per day (proclaiming that it was not healthy for the body or mind to spend the majority of one's time training, a philosophy Jean Luc had obviously never subscribed to), he discovered he could cheat the system by using a bit of extra force and skill during these simple chores. So maybe 'normal' people didn't break a sweat while dusting the banisters. Or do so while standing on their hands. It was already established that Remy was _not_ normal.

The mansion's library also pulled his interest. While Remy had a vast knowledge on a myriad of subjects, mostly those that pertained to a life of crime, all that he knew he had learned from either experience or at the hand of another. It was interesting to read about subjects such as electrical engineering, having the things he already knew explained in proper terminology instead of "So y' put dis 'ere, work dat wire dere, an' den i's go time, _comprendre_?". He found himself frequently muttering to himself "So _dat's_ wat dat t'ing 's called…"

The Professor had taken notice of his visits to the library, and approached him on the matter early one afternoon. Remy felt extremely uncomfortable in Xavier's office, a fact that he hoped to disguise with an exaggerated slouch and a lazy smirk. The twinkle in the Professor's eyes told him that it wasn't working.

The knot in Remy's stomach tightened.

"Remy, I've asked you here because I've noticed you have been taking advantage of the mansion's library as of late."

"Is dere a fine f' late books, 'cuz I can give y' a quarter later." Humor as a deflection. It was an old trick. Too bad he couldn't come up with anything better on the fly. Being in closed quarters with the powerful old spook rattled him more than he cared to admit.

Xavier smiled lightly, clearly seeing through the ploy. _Dang._ "You are free to read as many books as you'd like and keep them as long as necessary. It's encouraged, actually."

The Professor paused and observed the young man before him.

"Remy, have you given any thought as to what you would like to do with your life?"

These 'normal' people sure seemed to have a way with odd questions. "Live it, I guess." Xavier's facial expression told Remy that was not the response he had been looking for. "Is dere another option?"

"Other than mere survival, as your answer implies? Yes. When you were younger, what did you want to be when you grew up?"

Remy let out an irritated sigh. "Not dat stupid question 'gain. What de hell is dat suppos' t' mean, anyway?"

The Professor eyed him quizzically. "You've never heard the expression?"

"No, I haven't!" At this point Remy could not control his anger. He had grown tired of being humiliated, and it coming from the Professor was the last straw. "What, you gonna make fun o' me, too?"

Xavier remained calm. "The question is asking what type of profession or occupation you'd like to hold." His tone was sincere without the slightest trace of condescension, and Remy instantly felt foolish for his outburst.

"Oh."

It was one of the rare moments in his life that Remy felt close to tears. For years he'd been revered for his skill as a master of his craft, the Prince of Thieves. But since he'd moved back to Bayville and in with this group of 'normal' superheroes, he felt like the perpetual butt of jokes. Quite frankly, he was tired of the humiliation. And now he had brought it upon himself. With the Professor, no less. For the first time since arriving, he wished he could go back to New Orleans. Sure, he was merely a tool there, but at least he was an _expert_ tool. '_De Prince of Tools' _he thought morosely.

Either his poker face had shattered or he was projecting, because Xavier seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. "You're not an imbecile, Remy, you're simply not familiar with the expression. It's nothing to be ashamed of. No one is perfect."

"Right…" he mumbled. He had a tendency to be moody, and once he got in a funk it was hard to pull out, but Remy tried anyways, for the Professor's sake.

"So," the Xavier continued, "do you have an answer to my question?"

Remy contemplated the matter for a moment. "Well… I guess I never t'ought 'bout it. Never 'ad to. When I's a pup, I was sorta happy jus' t' live ta see da next day, ya know? Den afta dat I was t' be da heir to de Guild's throne. I was jus' always gonna be a t'ief." _Blew dat one ta hell_, he thought morbidly. The mental image of a sea of dead bodies came to his mind unconsciously.

"Well, it seems that life has dealt you a new set of cards." The Professor seemed amused by his own word play. "Your future is no longer decided for you. The question is, what do you intent to do about it?"

Remy was at a loss for words, and so he remained silent.

"Alright", the Professor sighed, "let me make a suggestion. The local community college that Scott and Jean attend offers a wide variety of courses. Perhaps you may enjoy sampling a few. College is, after all, a perfect place to explore your options and gain knowledge on an assortment of subjects."

Remy huffed and slouched further in his chair. "Yeah, yeah, dat's a fine idea, Prof, but dere's one problem wit it. I don' t'ink dey let ya jus' walk in off da street an' get ya degree, _non_?"

"I don't think it should be a problem to have your transcripts sent from Louisiana-"

"Except dat I don' have no transcripts down dere." Xavier eyed him questioningly. Remy shrugged. "I never been t' school."

The Professor seemed surprised. "I must confess, I had assumed otherwise. You are quite adept in your knowledge of electronics and mechanics, and from what Kitty tells me your skills with a computer rival her own, if not a bit… _narrow_ in the field of expertise." Apparently the Cajun's hack of the Professor's personnel files had not gone unnoticed.

"Learned all dat from de Guild."

"You're also fluent in both English and French."

"And Russian" he answered with a smirk.

Xavier pressed his fingers in a steeple as he appeared to ponder this new development. Remy was actually a bit surprised that the Professor had not already reached this conclusion. He thought it would have been painfully obvious that the Cajun was not familiar with the public education system when had tried to visit Rogue at school one day. He thought it would be interesting to see her in class, having never been to one himself, and planned to take her out to a nice lunch afterwards. It turned out that a strange man with a trench coat and devil eyes walking in off the street and wandering the halls, peering in random classrooms, put the administration on edge, and the school was immediately put on emergency lock down. The police were called, and both the Professor and Logan had had to come down and vouch for Remy's legitimacy to avoid charges being brought up. It had been, once again, an embarrassing reminder that he was poorly lacking in knowledge of what was acceptable behavior in the 'normal' world.

"Well", Xavier finally spoke up, sitting straighter in his chair, "I have no doubt that with some studying you should be able to obtain a GED. You may even be ready to enroll by the start of the Spring semester." He paused, searching the young man's face across from him. "Is this something you are interested in, Mr. LeBeau?"

Remy shrugged. "I guess."

The Professor fixed him with a hard gaze. "Our mission as X-men, while gravely important, is not all-consuming. I would assume that a young man of your intelligence would want more from his life than scrubbing floors and folding laundry."

Remy froze in his chair. He had been called many things in his life. Charming, witty, sexy, sneaky, stealthy, cunning, dishonest, untrustworthy, but never, **never**, intelligent. The sincerity in the Professor's expression filled him with something he couldn't quite identify, and he felt the urge to sit up straighter in his seat.

"Yeah, mebbe I do." He paused, his face falling a bit. "But, what ya asked b'fore, I still don' know what I wanna do wit' my life."

The Professor smiled. "That's alright, Remy. In fact, it's perfectly normal."

Remy found he could not suppress the smile that slowly crept upon his face.

Later that day, he sat waiting with anxious excitement at the bottom of the stairs as the high school students arrived home. One by one, he watched them file into the entryway, drumming his fingers on his knees with anticipation.

"Rogue!" he called out to her the second she walked through the door. Popping up from his sitting position, he rushed up to meet her, grabbing her by both arms and pulling her a few feet away from the group, a huge smile plastered across his face.

"Oh, uh, hey Sugah" she fumbled, trying to recover the shock of his eagerness. "Did ya spend the entire day drinkin' coffee or somethin'?"

"Ask me dat question again." Remy said, trying unsuccessfully to stifle his grin.

"Oh, uh, I don't-"

"De one 'bout 'when I grow up'" he cut her off, his eyes shining brightly. "Ask me again."

Slowly Rogue realized what he was talking about, and smiled with bewildered amusement as she took in his child-like excitement. "Oh, ok. Remy, whadda ya want t' be when ya grow up?"

He looked her straight in the eyes.

"I have no idea."

His smile was so wide it seemed to Rogue that his cheeks might burst.

"Dat's normal, right _chere_?" he continued, the exuberance in his expression never failing.

Rogue observed him for a moment. She had never seen him like this before, and the pure joy he seemed to be radiating seeped into her and she found herself smiling along with him.

"Yeah, Rems," she chuckled, reaching up and gently brushing back the hair that fell softly on his face, "that's completely normal."

***

Author's Note: I decided to add this at the end, because for me, as a reader, too many warnings at the beginning of a story qualifying why the author hopes the thing doesn't suck just sets off a blaring alarm of "Danger, Danger Will Robinson!" in my head, and I tend to stop reading right there because, quite frankly, if you have to add that much addendum, it probably does, in fact, suck. So now I've fooled you all by doing the same thing after you've already suffered through my crap! Bwah ha ha ha ha! That's your evil laugh there, my friends. I hope you enjoyed it.

I also hope you enjoyed the story. This started out as my attempt to simply write _something,_ because I really want to Beta, but FFN has a rule that you have to have at least 6000 words published before getting on the Beta network. And thus you have 'Normal'. A little bit about myself: I'm a closet comic fan, but I've never really let myself indulge in the temptation. My recent entry into the world of fanfiction is the first of these indulgences. My familiarity with X-men, in all it's forms, comes mostly from internet searches and this here site (although I did watch the original cartoon when I was younger). I have seen Cajun Spice on AOLVideo, and that's it, people. So if I've messed up something from EVOverse here (which I'm not sure how I could have seeing as there's, like, no plot in this story. You were all thinking it, right?), well then, um... sorry? My apology would be more sincere, but you're getting this stuff for free.

But since I do have some pride as a writer, I do hope you liked what I wrote. I love Remy, I think his history and personality and general hotty-ness make him one the most intriguing characters ever written. This was just sort of one spin on the character that I decided to run with. Although I always have more thoughts on the guy, most likely this will be all I'll write, so I hope it was worth a read through. Reviews are, of course, much loved and much appreciated. We creative types need a lot of preening, and sometimes to be taken down a peg or two, so please do so (and of course I'm hoping there's more of the preening than that icky second thing...).

-LT


	2. Swimming in October

**Disclaimer: Hey, I didn't do this last chapter! And I didn't get sued! So... does that mean I can get away with saying that I DO own every single character in my story and am doing this for personal and monetary gain? Let's try it out...**

**...also, I'm totally stealing one of my favorite scenes from one of my favorite television series in this story. I looked up the transcript and part of it I'm using word for word. However, I've changed the characters (obviously) and the tone and intention completely. This was seriously so much fun, taking words I've loved so much and finding they work perfectly here in the exact opposite way. Anyway, 147 bonus points for anyone who can pick the scene out and name where it came from. I'll give credit where it's due in the next chapter, to keep you all in suspense.**

So... yes, I've decided to continue the story. I just felt there was more to tell, and the reviews I got were encouraging. Woot Woot for my reviewers!! Most chapters will be like the first two, sort of a mini-story on it's own, no-cliffhangers. But I'll prepare you, I've got a 3-episode arch planned down the road that will have some almost mini-cliffhangers. But overall, I hope this is a fun little stress free bit of reading. Like the first chapter, this chapter has an overall 'current' timeline with reminiscense from the past. I'm not using the cheap "Flashback/end Flashback" ploy, and instead am counting on my skill as a writer to convey the story properly. If my skill is not getting the job done, let me know and I'll clarify for you. This chapter is from Rogue's perspective (which was incredibly hard to write for me, oddly enough). Most will be from Remy's point of view, but occasionally I'll throw in something like this one. Enjoy, and a few more little author's notes at the end:

* * *

She had told him countless times: Normal people do not swim laps in an outdoor pool in October. They just don't. Rogue thought this argument would work on him, seeing as of late he had formed a semi-secret obsession with learning to be 'normal'. Why he did this, she wasn't sure; Remy's eccentricities were a large part of what she loved about him. Except for the swimming thing. That was simply just asking for trouble.

He claimed it was a necessity. "Got ta keep up da swimmer's physique, _Chere_. Long lean muscles, good f' t'ievin', _non_?" When she'd pointed out that he wasn't supposed to be "t'ievin'" any more, he'd countered that even X-men had to worm their way into tight spots occasionally. It would have been a decent argument, if it were not for the fact that the Mansion's only pool was indeed located outdoors, and while the water was somewhat heated to keep the pipes from freezing, sixty degree water in a New York fall was simply not warm enough. But despite Rogue's warnings, he continued to swim. And eventually, as she had predicted, it came back to bite him in the ass.

He tried to hide it at first, but she could tell. The fool was getting sick. A cough here, a sniffle there, all the tell-tale signs that something was not right.

"Hey idiot," she greeted him as she entered the kitchen for breakfast.

"Ain't y' sweet." he threw back at her sarcastically, glancing up at her from his coffee cup as he perched on a barstool at the end of the island.

"Hey, I just call 'em as I see 'em", she replied nonchalantly, shuffling over to the counter to retrieve a mug for herself, "and right now all I see in front o' me is a big fat idiot." She examined him as she filled her mug to the brim. His hair was wet, his long bangs dripping heavy drops of water down to his well-defined cheekbones. The loose t-shirt he had thrown on was wet in random splotches, obviously where he had failed to dry off properly with the towel that was now hanging haphazardly upon the back of his chair. "Why do you insist on keeping this up when you're clearly sick?"

"'m not s-" His protest was abruptly interrupted by the sudden onset of a violent coughing fit. As he struggled, she casually sashayed her way over his side, fisting her mug and leaning forward to rest her elbows on the counter in front of him.

"Sorry, sugah, didn't catch that. Ya're not… what?" He glared at her fiercely as she beamed at him with a saccharine sweet smile, complete with the innocent batting of her eyelashes. After a solid minute, he managed to sputter to a stop, taking a long drag of hot liquid to solidify the end of his attack.

"'m not sick." He stated, though even she could tell that his tone lacked complete conviction.

"Raght…" she drawled, rolling her eyes. She watched him for a moment as he sulked over his coffee. She let herself turn serious. "Remy, ya really need ta give it a rest. This is just stupid. Why don't ya go swim at the public pool? It's indoors at least."

He continued to stare at his coffee, and she figured it was either the most interesting shade of black he'd ever seen, or he was avoiding her gaze. Odds were it was the latter. Without looking up, he murmured. "Dey don' like me dere." He glanced at her and forced a chuckle and a casual smirk, seemingly trying to lighten the mood. "Kinda hard t' swim wit sunglasses on. 'Course, all dem ladies was prob'ly jus' starin' at dis sexy body and not m' eyes afta' all. Mebbe I _should _go back dere…"

She was surprised she hadn't guessed this before. Rogue was quickly learning that, despite his outward bravado, Remy was actually quite self-conscious. He always kept his sunglasses on indoors when out in public, he wore gloves to cover the scars on his palms, and she later realized that he had probably been a bit hurt by the gentle teasing he'd received when he'd first arrived at the Mansion, a fact that she still felt some guilt over.

"Ya shouldn't let them bug ya, Rems." _Like I'm one to talk_, she thought ruefully. Despite the hypocrisy of the statement, she knew it was true. "Besides, I like yer eyes." She reached out a gloved hand and brushed back his damp bangs, bringing the orbs in question into clearer view.

Despite rolling his eyes at her, she felt him unconsciously lean into her touch. "Dat's because you' a freak, _Chere_."

"Says the man who goes swimming outside in forty degree weather."

"Said it was forty-**seven **dis morning'."

"Oh, okay, much better then."He smiled at her with an easy grace as they enjoyed a moment of comfortable silence.

"How 'bout this" She stated, breaking the spell that seemed to have fallen over the kitchen. "I _betcha _ya can't go the rest of the week without swimmin' yer stupid laps." It had taken her only about a week after they started their friendship while he was still in New Orleans to learn that he was a sucker for a bet. Of course, by this time she had already exploited this weakness to the point that he no longer bought it.

He rolled his eyes at her once again. "An' I _betcha_ y' can' stay silent for da rest o' da car ride, _petite_." He mocked back.

Just as she opened her mouth to respond, a clatter erupted from the kitchen's entryway as the rest of the household began entering for breakfast, and their intimate moment was broken. Their relationship always seemed to change a bit when others were around. Rogue knew for herself that, despite her best effort to quell her natural instincts, she became more closed off and guarded. Somehow Remy had wormed his way into her personal bubble, both physically and emotionally, but this little accomplishment never transferred to the rest of society. Whenever another person entered the room, she could almost **feel** her walls instantly erect themselves once again, and her intimate connection with the Cajun was pushed aside.

Perhaps this was because the real start of their relationship began through the months of late-night phone calls between the two. It was always just the two of them, lone voices on the other end of the line. After returning with Logan and the other X-men from New Orleans, she had carefully placed the playing card he gave her on top of her desk. The Queen of Hearts. His parting gift was a bit on the nose, and despite herself she found that to be both extremely cliché and unnervingly endearing. He had hastily scrawled his number along one edge, along with the message _'If you ever need me'. _She was the Rogue; she never _needed_ anyone, but as the playing card continued to pull her attention like a siren's call, she found instead of need, there was want.

It took exactly seven days before the temptation was too much to resist. Fighting the late winter chill, she huddled in the corner of her balcony, her cell phone in hand. Four deep breathes, nine pushed buttons, and five rings later, his rich baritone voice filled her ears.

"'Allo."

"Uh… Gambit?"

A pregnant pause filled the line and she knew it was a mistake to use his codename. "_Chere_?"

"Um, yeah. It's Rogue." She cursed herself mentally for being so damn awkward.

"Dere somet'in' wrong?"

"No, I, uh…" Cursing herself once again, she tried to will herself back into the confident young women she had been for 17 years up until that moment. "I just… how're ya doin', Remy?"

After a quick beat, she heard him chuckle lightly. "'m fine, Rogue. An' y'self?"

_Oh goody, I guess I sound as pathetic as I feel_, she thought sarcastically. "I'm fine." Smacking herself on the forehead, she prayed that he'd say something, anything, to ease the awkwardness she found herself in. Cruelly, he remained silent, and she could almost see the smirk that was no doubt plastered across his unnervingly attractive features.

Letting out a discouraged sigh, she finally spoke "I don't even know why the hell I called…"

"Y' wanted t' talk t' me." He finished matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I guess I did."

"'m glad. Trut' is, I wanted t' talk t' you, too."

"Ya did?"

"_Oui._"

Suddenly, her previous discomfort was gone and she had the distant memory of sitting in a jazz club in the Big Easy, smooth music filtering the air and melding with the soft rich tones of her companion.

"So," she said, leaning back comfortably into the railing behind her, "what're you up to now?"

"Same 's when y' left me. In N'awlins, wit' m' _pere_."

"I thought ya said ya left the Guild."

He sighed dejectedly. "I t'ought so, too."

"What happened?" She already knew the answer. The disappointment in his voice was hard to mistake.

"Y' know what dey say 'bout habits, _Chere_. Dey be hard t' break."

Apparently, that sentiment was something Remy took to heart. Despite her continued insistence, he kept up his morning ritual of destroying his immune system until after three days of nagging she convinced Logan that it was time to cover the pool for the winter. Rogue was also displeased to find him habitually lighting up. It seemed insane to persist with the unhealthy habit when every drag sent him into an uncontrollable hacking fit. But the man claimed to be ruled by routine. Rogue was starting to believe he was simply addicted to self-destructive behaviors. Drinking, smoking, gambling, (formerly) women, rebelling against any Man he could find, and now, seasonable-inappropriate exercise regimens. It was either that, or he was just stupid. The fact that he dared to invoke Rogue's wrath by defying her instructions gave the argument credence.

A week later, she returned home from school to find him curled in a ball on the couch in the rec room, wrapped tightly in one of the room's warm blankets. She could see underneath his cocoon of fabric that he was wearing his uniform.

"Remy, what're ya doin'?" she asked as she came around to stand in front of him.

"Huh? Oh…" It seemed she had broken him from some sort of trance as he looked up at her through bleary red on black eyes. "_Chere_, when'd y' get home?"

"Just now." She crouched down to get a better look at him. "Swamp Rat, ya look like crap." He did.

"_Merci, Chere_." His sarcasm was half-hearted at best. "I just finished in da Danga' Room. Was gonna get changed an' go help Logan work on his new bike, but I couldn' get warm." She noticed now he was shaking. She reached out a hand to his forehead. Even through the material of her glove she could feel that he was burning up, and his skin was lined with a coat of sweat.

"Remy!" She sighed in exasperation. "Ya're **sick**. Come on.. Let's get ya ta bed, and I'll call up Hank."

Apparently he really _was_ sick, because he let her haul him up off the couch without protest. Slinging his arm over her shoulder, Rogue helped support his trembling body as they made their way up the stairs to his room. She knew not to take him to the Med Lab; she had already ascertained that he was afraid of the place. Noticing how his body would tense up and his eyes would fixate on the floor every time they passed the lab on the way to the Danger Room, she had ribbed him gently.

"What, ya afraid of needles or somethin', Cajun?"

He turned to her and fixed her with a hard gaze. "Bad experience." The seriousness of his tone had told her that was the end of the conversation.

Upon reaching his room, she set about the task of removing his damp uniform. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room as she fussed about him, his body shaking uncontrollably.

"What're y' doin', Chere?" He asked wearily as she pulled up at the hem of his top.

"Ya can't go ta bed in yer uniform. Besides, it's soaked." She replied, pulling the garment over his head.

"Yeah, well… y' just…" He fumbled, and she could tell he trying to conjure up one his trademark innuendos. Sadly, his mind was too muddled with fever, and he gave up with a pathetic sigh.

She laughed heartily. "What, Swamp Rat, no line about how this is all just a plot ta get my hands on yer rock-hard abs?"

He blinked. "Oh. Yeah. Somet'in' like dat."

She laughed again as she continued to help him out of his clothes. Rogue never thought she would be this comfortable with another person. Whether her mutation had caused her to distance herself from others or had merely given her an excuse to dwell on feelings that already existed, she didn't know. But she had broken through that barrier with Remy. Perhaps it was because she couldn't use the 'it's not safe to get close' excuse when their relationship was over the phone.

After that first clumsy conversation, she found that she actually had an easy repartee with the Cajun. Her biting comments merely amused him instead of pushing him away, as they did with everyone else. He could give as good as he got, and it seemed that both parties enjoyed the verbal sparing. They shared a common background and a dark sense of humor. He simply 'got' her, in a way she never would have expected from the charming Casanova.

They talked almost every day. Sometimes she would call, sometimes it was him. Neither pretended to need an excuse to initiate the conversation; it was unspoken knowledge that they simply needed each other. Over the months, she realized that he was becoming her best friend. And as she found his double entendres irritated her less and less, she realized that perhaps their relationship was growing into something more.

Having stripped him down to his boxer briefs, she allowed herself a guilty moment of voyeurism. There was no doubt that the man was attractive. Tall, lean, and all sinewy muscle, he looked like an underwear model. Well, a shivering, pitiful underwear model with an adorable puppy dog pout…

"_Chere_…" he broke her out of her reverie. "'m **cold**" he whined.

Ignoring his pleas for more layers, she pushed him gently onto his bed and laid a thin blanket on top of him, which he quickly wrapped around himself as tightly as humanly possible. Hank came and confirmed his fever (_102.1. And he thinks I'm gonna let him put more clothes on… idiot_). After taking a blood sample to verify his diagnosis of pneumonia, the good doctor left Rogue to tend to her ailing companion.

Turning on the small television that sat on his dresser, she returned to the bed and sat down next him, leaning back against the headboard and stretching her legs out in front of her. As she searched through the channels, looking for the type of historical documentary she knew he liked, he snuggled up closer to her, laying his head in her lap as he wrapped his arms around her thigh like a pillow. Any other time she would knocked him this side of Tuesday for getting so fresh, but seeing as he was so miserable (and would most likely fall into a deep sleep in the near future) she allowed him to cuddle into her. As he shifted, the blanket fell down his back, and she noticed a set of vertical scars she hadn't seen before.

"Remy, how'd ya get those scars on yer back?"

"Huh?" he answered, not opening his eyes. "Oh, dose 're from Belle."

It took a beat for her to realize what he was saying . "Oh."

He chuckled lightly, and she could tell he was starting to drift. "Yeah, told y' she was rough…" He wrinkled his face in a grimace. She never did take Remy as one for the hard and fast; he seemed more the type for slow and smoldering…

Hearing the name of his ex-fiancé instantly made her stomach churn. Rogue knew it was an irrational feeling. He was here now, that heartache had passed. But still, the sound of that one syllable brought a flood of memories that felt as fresh as if they had just happened yesterday.

She had just returned from a nighttime stroll in the warmth of late June. Weaving her way through the crowded hallway, her energetic teammates still milling about the late hour with the freedom of summertime, her cell phone rang, and she answered it without looking at the number.

"Hello?"

"Hi."

"Hi. Who's this?" It was hard to hear with the amount of loud music and clamoring noise in the background on the other end of the line, and she couldn't quite place the voice.

"It's Diego from da ot'er night. Y' neva' called me."

"Remy?"

The sound of his smoky laugh warmed her to her toes. "Y' got me. Whatcha' doin'?"

"I'm just hangin' out." Having reached her room, she checked that it was empty as she closed the door behind her. "What're ya doin'?"

He paused. "'m at a bachelor party."

She flopped down on her bed, her hands coming to rest casually behind her head. "Oh cool. Who's?"

"Mine."

All casualness disappeared, and she felt like a bucket of cold water was dumped on top of her. Instantly she sat up.

"Yours? Wow." She had known about the upcoming nuptials, but seeing as the arranged marriage was both a sore spot for him and a source of awkwardness for their relationship, the details had been, for the most point, avoided.

"I know. I should've told y' it was tonight…" He trailed off, apparently not knowing what else to say. The regret and displeasure were practically dripping from his voice. Remy's engagement had been, from the beginning, the perpetual elephant in the room; both knew it was there, and both fought like hell to pretend it wasn't. But now, with it seemingly out in the open, Rogue decided to take the opportunity to embrace the reality of the situation.

"So," she started, hoping her voice came out more confident than she felt, "what's her name, anyway?"

On the other end, he paused. "Uh, it's Belle. Belladonna Boudreaux."

"Boudreaux?" She questioned.

"Y' know her?" He seemed supremely surprised.

"No, I just remember a Julian Boudreaux, the Ripper from when ya took me ta New Orleans…" She tried to halt the memories that came to mind, not wanting to associate that time with him with the bitter pang she felt deep in her stomach with the current conversation.

"Oh, right." He seemed uneasy, and she wondered if he was having the same inner turmoil as herself. "Yeah, dat's her _frere_."

"I guess that's why he's got such a grudge against ya."

He chuckled ruefully. "Yeah, pretty much."

Awkwardly, neither one said anything as the sounds of the club filled the line between them.

She swallowed and tried to summon her best impression of a playful demeanor. "So, is she worthy?"

"Is anyone?" he countered. Now there was the Cajun she knew. This, his preening, her sarcasm, the easy banter, **this** she could do.

"Pamela Anderson, maybe? Carmen Electra?" She joked pointedly.

He scoffed. "Get serious."

"A young Natalie Wood?"

"Now y' talkin'."

"So what's she like?" It was dangerous territory, but she couldn't help herself.

"She's an assassin."

Rogue scoffed. "Could ya be a little more vague?"

"I don' know." The background noise seemed to dim a bit, and she wondered if he was secluding himself further in a corner somewhere in the club she assumed he was at. "She's a classic assassin. Passionate, crazy, rut'less, a bit morbid…"

"Morbid?"

"Yeah, she likes da hits, y' know? Get's turned on afta' a job, likes it rough, dat sorta' t'ing. Like dis one time-" He stopped suddenly, seemingly rethinking telling that particular story. "Neva' mind…"

Never being able to resist once she smelled blood in the water, Rogue jumped on his discomfort gleefully. "What, Remy? Did she tie ya up or somethin'? Make ya beg?"

"Stop it." She could hear the smile in his voice, even though he was trying to hide it.

"Wait, did she make ya be her love slave?" She dropped her voice scandalously low. "Were there costumes involved?"

"I'm gonna hit y'."

"We're on the phone." She reminded him.

"'m gonna come up dere an' hit y'," He laughed.

"Ya're at yer bachelor party."

"Right." And with that the lightheartedness of the conversation faded into nothing. "Right." He repeated dejectedly.

"So why are ya calling me?" She asked. That hollow ache was reclaiming it's place in her gut.

"Um, because y' know me really well." She did?

"Yeah, I do." She hoped by putting it in words the statement would be true.

She heard him sigh as he continued. "An' I jus' wanted t' tell someone who knows me really well dat… I'm gettin' married." His voice was shaking by the end, and she knew, at this point, hers would be, too.

"Well, as someone who knows ya really well," _don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry_, "I say congratulations. If ya can help bring peace to ya're family, I think that's great." She hated herself for lying to him. She knew he wouldn't believe her anyway.

Rogue heard him pause, taking a deep breath that almost seemed to hitch a bit at the end. When he finally spoke, his voice was small, and the despair it held pushed the tears she'd been holding back over the edge. "An' y' can picture me married, right?"

The words came out before she could stop them. "Yeah, to the right girl, I can picture ya married."

"Thanks." He didn't seem to be able to say any more. Silence once again reclaimed the conversation as she tried her best to suppress her emotions, and she assumed he was doing the same. The tears streamed freely down her face as she clamped her free hand to her mouth, holding back the sobs that threatened to burst as she listened to his ragged breathing on the other end of the line. After a few moments she was able to keep herself together enough to speak.

"You should get back to yer party." She knew he had heard her voice catch at the end.

"Right, right." He sniffled, and it took everything she had to keep that fact from pushing her over the edge once again. "Well, uh… I'll talk t' y' later." He had barely choked out the words, and she knew this was the end.

"Bye, Remy." Not wanting to dwell on that statement, she quickly added. "Hey, can you put Diego back on the phone?"

He didn't laugh at her joke. "Bye, Rogue." And with that, he cut the line.

Thinking back on it now, her heart ached just as strong, and she began running her fingers through his hair unconsciously to remind herself that he was, in fact, here.

Her phone had remained silent for over a week, and she thought it would stay that way. When it did ring, and she saw his number on the display, her heart leapt into her throat and she answered it before she could think whether or not it was a mistake.

"Remy?!"

"Julian's dead."

The shock of simply hearing from the man whom she had painfully imagined enjoying wedded bliss for the past eight days overwhelmed his words, and it took a moment for their meaning to sink in. "Wait… what?"

"I killed 'im." His voice was small and trembling, and cold fear swept over her like a blanket. "Didn't have a choice, it was 'im or me." He paused, only for a moment. "De weddin'… it's off."

"Remy…" She knew she should be jumping from the banisters with joy at that statement, but the fear in his voice kept her grounded.

"Dere's more…" He continued. "Dere was… an accident."

She heard him swallow. "Remy, are you okay?"

"Uh… yeah, _Chere_, I'm okay." There was a hesitation in his voice that made her question whether he was telling the truth. He breathed deep before continuing. "I'm out. Exiled. I gotta leave N'awlins. Da offer… y' said y' talked t' Xavier, and he said I could come dere, join da X-men?"

"Yeah, I mean, ya'd have at meet with him yerself, but he said if ya wanted a fresh start, ya could have a home here." _With me_, she added silently.

On the other end of the line, he let out a sigh of relief. "Okay. Yeah, okay. Look, Chere, I gotta take care o' somet'in' first. I don' know long it'll take, but I'll come up afta' I get dis handled." His voice seemed to be steadying, and the chill that had settled over her was beginning to thaw. "Jus' wait f' me, okay _Chere_? I'll be dere."

"Okay, Remy." He hung up before she could say anything else.

The day he had showed up at the mansion, she felt as if she could finally release the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Running out to meet him, she bounded down the front steps as he dismounted his bike. It had been a month and a half since she had heard his voice, and over six months since she had seen his face, and she couldn't stop herself from throwing her arms around him and holding him as if she would never let go. It was comforting to feel him hold her back just as tightly.

She buried her face in the warmth of his chest. "I missed ya, Remy."

He kissed the top of her head, the first intimate gesture they ever shared, and sighed happily. "Oh, _Chere,_ y' have no idea…"

Now, as they lay in his bed, his arms wrapped around her leg, eyes closed, she couldn't help but ask him the question that'd been on her mind for so many months. He was never one to talk openly about his feelings, but she had a hunch his lips might be looser in his current fever-induced daze.

"Remy… Did ya love Belle?"

"Hmmm?" He opened one eye lazily and looked up at her. "Well… yeah, I t'ink I did. I mean, I knew her since I's a pup…"

"But ya didn't want to marry her." It was both question and statement.

He closed his eye once again. "No."

"Why not?"

A long moment passed and she wondered if he had drifted off before he finally spoke.

"She hated m' eyes."

With that, he burrowed closer into her warmth, and she felt his breathing even out as he finally let sleep take over him.

It was a simple statement, but she understood what he meant. His red on black eyes, a sign of his mutation, were one of his biggest insecurities. But they were him. Their juxtaposition against his almost painfully gorgeous features were symbolic of everything he was. Just like his eyes, Remy was curious, mysterious, charming, haunting, and enigmatic. He was the type of man would swim laps outdoors in October. If Belle couldn't appreciate that, then she couldn't appreciate Remy.

Rogue smiled to herself as she drew lazy circles on his back, feeling the warmth of his breath as he slept. In. Out. In. Out. She had nothing to worry about. She loved his eyes.

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So, last chapter I was all cool, devil-may-care about getting reviews, not wanting to come off overeager or anything.... Yeah, screw that! I'm begging this time. PLEASE REVIEW!!! I really loved getting them, preening does wonders for the skin. Plus, at this point, I really NEED them. Inspiration comes from odd places, and I could use some from you guys. I feel like I'm hosting an improve night: "Name a location! Name an occupation! Name a random object!" Seriously, people, do it. Name random stuff in your reviews, because that's the sort of thing that's going to inspire some fun Remy-in-the-normal-world scenerios. This entire chapter came from me puking my guts out with the stomach flu last week (I gave him pneumonia instead because colorful descriptions of vomitting is just not fun. You're welcome.). So, in other words, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!!!! Am I desperate enough, because I can do more desperate, if you want.


	3. Albatross and Finch

**Disclaimer: Still no lawsuits! Woot woot for me! So, I'm still going to claim that I own them, and am seriously considering suing the rest of you for using my characters. I do NOT take credit, however, for most of the words used in last chapter's bachelor party scene. That comes from Gilmore Girls from the season 2 episode 'Red Light on the Wedding Nights'. **98 bonus points to NitrogenFixation for knowing it was from Gilmore Girls, but the full points were not awarded because she had no idea who said it. Thanks for playing! There's another GG line-steal in this chapter. What can I say, it's good writing.

The inspiration for this chapter comes from the infamous **Ishandahalf**, and your gift for said inspiration comes in the form of a nod to your awesome fic Symbiotic in this chapter. Look for an homage to something you mentioned there in reference to Kitty, Piotr, and the movie Titanic.

I'm going to award a "Reviewer Quote of the Week", because I think it's awesome incentive to review, and who doesn't love a shout-out? I love getting shout-outs! This week's is from Star-of-Chaos:

"I loved their phone conversations, and the argument about swimming. I'm from New England though, and it was quite normal for some of my friends to go swimming in the Atlantic in fall or go around in the snow in the middle of winter where sandals with no socks. Crazy guys." Yes, it's a universal truth: Guys are idiots.

So, on to Chapter 3! There will be some non-essential author's notes at the bottom. Only read if my ego is correct and people have an actual interest in what was going through my head as I wrote this.

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_'I'm going to be a totally awesome mother some day_'_,_ Kitty mused to herself.

"Rogue, you've got, like, TWO SECONDS to get out of that bed before I come over there and phase you through the floor in your pajamas!"

A low grumble was all that responded from underneath the pile of covers Rogue had burrowed herself into.

"I already gave you five more minutes, and that was, like, twelve minutes ago!"

The mass of bed sheets grumbled again.

"You are not getting up, if you were getting up I would see **movement!**"

Receiving no response this time, Kitty knew it was time to fight dirty. Summoning up every ounce of strength she had in her tiny body, she grabbed the pile of covers and yanked them fiercely off the bed, flinging a sleeping Rogue to the floor with a heavy thud.

"OW! What the hell, Kitty!" Rogue exclaimed, suddenly awake and rubbing the back of her head as she sat unceremoniously on the floor.

Kitty stood in front of her, looming in all of her five foot three indignant glory. "Rogue! You **promised** you would go shopping with me, and you **promised **you wouldn't be a total butt-munch about it! We're going for you, after all, and you OWE ME!!"

"I only got a B on that Physics test…" Rogue mumbled as she picked herself off the floor.

"And you would have gotten a D if it wasn't for my help. Now get ready!" Kitty pushed her roommate out into the hall towards the bathroom. "I'm going to go check on Remy, and if you're not out of there in, like, fifteen minutes, I'm sending your boyfriend in after you!" She slammed the door before Rogue could protest the use of the term 'boyfriend'.

Kitty was beginning to regret planning this outing, and the thought that she could use the word 'regret' in regards to a trip to the mall made her even more irritated. Earlier that week, Rogue had made an off-handed comment about needing to update her wardrobe, and the tiny brunette had jumped on it like a fat man on a Christmas ham. It wasn't everyday that her gothic-inspired friend grew a fashion-conscience, and Kitty was not about to pass the opportunity up.

Of course, these days going anywhere with Rogue meant the six foot two Adonis would be tagging along. Kitty found it simultaneously cute and pathetic that the mutant known as Gambit had nothing better to do with his time than to follow her friend around like a sexed-up puppy dog. _Thank goodness Piotr returned from Russia. For someone so 'social', the man has, like, __**no**__ friends…. _

Kitty knew she should be excited to have Remy tag along. For one thing, it meant she would get the chance to persuade him to purchase some new outfits for himself. It seemed he had taken very few items with him when he left New Orleans, and the few articles of clothing he had with him were getting old. Fast. Kitty could appreciate a good view, and having a man that good-looking hanging around the mansion was _definitely_ a good thing. Having him dressed in rags was simply a waste of such a perfect canvas.

Kitty also had high hopes that with the Cajun's presence she could convince her friend to try on a few dresses for the Winter Formal next month. Rogue was still insisting on not attending, which Kitty, for the life of her, could not understand. What was the point of having a gorgeous boyfriend if you didn't show him off? Remy, while odd and at times extremely irksome, was an eleven out of ten on the hotness scale, and the mental image of slack-jawed cheerleaders as Rogue sashayed casually into the school's gym with a Greek god on her arm would be, in Kitty's opinion, priceless.

It was darn-near squeal-worthy when he showed up occasionally to pick Rogue up after school. Every so often they would head out with the mass of student body toward the front of the school to find Remy, tall dark and handsome, leaning against his motorcycle, hands casually in his pockets, sunglasses in place, a cigarette hanging precariously from his full, oh-so-kissable lips. The man had the whole 'James Dean' thing down pat. It made Kitty, and every co-ed in the vicinity, practically swoon when Rogue would march confidently over to him, pluck the cig from his now smirking mouth and stomp it out under her boot, before mounting the bike behind him. The two would peel off into the afternoon sun as every girl left behind would try to hide their jealousy, and Kitty loved every second of it. Not just because it was like watching a scene from one of her romance-novels being played out in real life, but because, after all the crap she put up with, her friend deserved to be the object of envy every once in a while.

Of course, the downside to having Remy come with them on their shopping adventure was that Kitty had one more petulant child to nag. Reaching his door, she began pounding on it, no longer in the mood to afford him a gentle wake-up call after her twenty minute struggle with Rogue.

"REMY! ARE YOU UP?! IF YOU'RE UP, COME ANSWER THE FRICKIN' DOOR!" Ok, so maybe she was taking it out on him a _little _too much.

She stopped pounding and listened for any sound of movement coming from the other side of the door. When all she heard was a soft, low, grumble, Kitty lost her cool. She phased through the door without warning and marched through the rubble on his floor to the side of his bed. Remy lay sprawled out on his stomach, his face smashed into his pillow, with a thin blanket covering him halfway up his bare torso.

"Remy, get UP!" She shrieked, hoping that her voice hit that high, shrill pitch she knew he hated.

He groaned as he rolled onto his back to face her. "_Bon Matin _t' you, too, _Chaton…"_

"Enough with the pleasantries. We're supposed to leave in, like, less than thirty minutes and you're still totally in bed. Get up NOW!"

Remy rubbed his eyes absently. "Fine, fine…" As he began to sit up, the thin blanket slowly sliding down his bare chest, Kitty took in the mess that lay haphazardly at her feet beside his bed. Shoes, socks, shirt, pants, boxer briefs… Her eyes lingered on the last item for a moment before she processed the shocking conclusion. Kitty looked up to see the blanket fall just below his hip bones before she clamped a hand across her eyes as quickly as humanly possible.

"REMY!! Are you NAKED?!" She screamed.

"Huh? Oh, _oui, petite._" He responded, sounding about as concerned as if she had asked him if he had had a good night's sleep. Hearing the ruffling of his sheets as he got up out of bed, she backed away blindly from him until she bumped painfully into the wall behind her.

"Oh my GOSH, stay away from me and put some CLOTHES on!" she shrieked. What was wrong with this guy?

He chuckled before muttering under his breath "Usually da t'ought o' Remy naked has de _opposite_ response from de _femmes_…". Kitty was not amused.

"Are you, like, dressed yet, or what?!"

"Yeah, yeah, I got clothes on…"

Kitty opened her eyes just long enough to see him standing in front of her in only his boxer briefs before she quickly shut them again. "REMY! A half a yard of spandex wrapped around your genitals, like, does NOT count as clothing! If you're not decent in two seconds, I'm going to go find Piotr and tell him that you're walking around in front of his girlfriend in the buff!"

She heard him chuckle again, but at least this time the sound seemed to be coming from inside the closet on the other side of the room. "Don' worry, Petey won' be jealous o' y', _Chaton_. He's already had de privilege o' seein' Remy naked…"

Kitty was suddenly struck with the mental image of Piotr sitting with his sketchpad and charcoal, drawing a portrait of Remy lounging on Victorian loveseat wearing nothing but a blue diamond heart necklace and smile. _I guess __**that **__movie is ruined for me now… _she thought ruefully.

"Y' can open y' eyes now_, petite_, 'm dressed." he called out to her.

Very cautiously, Kitty opened her eyes to confirm that the insufferable man was decent, which, in a pair of sweatpants and the t-shirt that had been on the floor (_ew_), he was.

"Fine. Now, we're supposed to be leaving in, like" she glanced at her wristwatch, "nineteen minutes, so get going."

Remy rolled his eyes at her as he made his way to his private bathroom. "Y' be a real drill sergeant when it comes ta y' shopping, ain't y'? 'Sides, I'm not a _fille_, Kit-Kat, it only takes me _quinze minutes _t' get ready…"

Kitty began stalking away from him, phasing out his door as she called behind her. "I guess you don't plan on having your morning coffee today, then!"

"_Merde!" _

She smiled to herself as she left his room and made her way down to the kitchen. _'I, like, totally deserve a reward for putting up with their crap', _she thought to herself as she filled a bowl to the brim with a sickening combination of Captain Crunch and Fruit Loops.

Twenty three minutes later (a good six minutes late by Kitty's calculations) found the three X-men driving toward Bayville Mall, and Kitty was once again in a bad mood. She was **not** supposed to be playing chaperone to the two Southerners. But Logan had asked Piotr to help with a Danger Room session for the New Recruits, and the Russian simply couldn't say no to anyone. '_That eternal niceness is only supposed to benefit __**me**_' Kitty cursed inwardly. So now she was alone in the front of the car driving while Rogue and Remy sat in the back, his arm hanging casually around her shoulders as she tried to feign disinterest while at the same time leaning into his slender frame. While Kitty hated looking like a taxi driver, at least she was actually given the opportunity to drive, and this way she had complete control over the radio, a perk she began to appreciate more fully as her new favorite song came on.

"Ugh, I hate this song!" Rogue groaned from the backseat. "I can't believe this crap constitutes as 'Rock' for today's teeny-bopper generation."

"Dis is suppose' t' be 'Rock'? Dat's jus' sad. What eva' happened to da classics?"

"Well, she _is_ the first American Idol, and that was like eight years ago, so she's totally classic." Kitty retorted.

"What's an 'American Idol'?" he questioned.

Kitty rolled her eyes. "You grew up in New Orleans, right? Not Mars? Kelly Clarkson totally rocks."

"Oh yeah, she's completely hardcore," was Rogue's sarcastic reply. "Wait… just… see, she just said 'suck' in the chorus."

"You know," Kitty huffed defensively, "if you actually _listen_ to the lyrics, this song could, like, totally apply to you two."

"_**I know that I've got issues, but you're pretty messed up too" **_

"Oh maw word, Remy!" Rogue exclaimed with an exaggerated accent and more mocking sarcasm than should be humanly possible. "It's lahke she's singin' about US! Let's make it our song!"

"Das right, Chere. An' whenever I hear dis song, I'll t'ink o' you."

"And Ah'll think of you, and it'll be lahke we're neva' apart!"

"An' de firs' time we make love," he dipped his voice seductively low, "We put dis song on in de background. An' when she sings da chorus, ma _Cherie_, our hot, naked bodies tanglin' toget'er, I'll slowly lowa' my-"

"OKAY!" Kitty shouted, switching off the radio with a decisive flick of her wrist. "Music time's over. You both suck."

The rest of the ride was silent except for the unsuppressed snickers from the backseat.

Despite their minimally late start, they got to the mall just when Kitty had planned it. She was not only a master shopper, but also an expert on her friend, and she knew that the only way she was going to get Rogue through a shopping trip without bodily harm was to plan things perfectly. They arrived at the mall thirty minutes after opening. This allowed the sales staff enough to time to have everything up and running smoothly and would afford them the most shopping time before the crowds of obnoxious teenagers became too much and Rogue would most likely start taking hostages.

Kitty stopped them just as they were opening the doors to go inside.

"Remy, wait. You're not going to, like, wear those sunglasses inside, are you?"

"What, y' don' like dem, _petite_?"

"Well, I mean, aviators aren't exactly in style anymore, but that's not the point. It's kind of creepy to have sunglasses on indoors."

He took the glasses off in a grand swoop and leaned down to bat his demonic eyes dramatically at Kitty. "I t'ink it might be a bit creepier wit'out dem."

"Hmmm, good point. Let me see…" Kitty began debating which situation would cause her the least amount of public embarrassment before Rogue whacked her forcefully on the arm, breaking her reverie.

"Kitty!" she gave her one of her signature death glares that Kitty was now immune to before turning to the man beside her. "Remy, wear them or don't wear them. It's yer choice. It don't matter ta us, **right Kitty**?"

"Oh, uh, right. Sorry." she replied sheepishly before heading inside as the two followed her, Remy slipping on his shades just before entering. She really did feel bad for making him feel uncomfortable, but this was a sacred place to her. Her sanctuary. If her reputation here were to be tarnished in any way it would be heartbreaking. Speaking of which…

"Wait, one more thing. Remy, you are not, I repeat, NOT allowed to steal ANYTHING while we're here, got it? No shoplifting, no pick-pocketing, and there's a drawing to win a new car near the food court, so no grand theft auto either."

Remy rolled his eyes. At least, that's what Kitty assumed he was doing behind his shades. "Really, no stealin'? T'anks, _Professor Xavier_, but I already know da rules."

It was Kitty's turn to roll her eyes. "Yeah, and you're, like, **so** good at following rules. I'm serious. If I get banned from this place because I'm with you when you get caught, I might as well kill myself."

Remy smirked as he started towards one of the shops. "See, da problem wit' dat scenario, _petite_, is dat I neva' get caught. Hey, try dis shirt on, _Chere_, I t'ink it'd be good on y'…"

For the most part, the morning went better than Kitty expected. Well, almost better. Remy only managed to cause Kitty's reputation near-irreparable damage a _couple_ of times.

The first store they encountered that used security tags on their clothes, the man started to snicker. He tried to contain himself, but when he caught Rogue and Kitty's questioning looks, his resolve melted and he burst into a hit of giggles.

"'m sorry," he tried to choke out, "it's jus' been a while since I've been in one o' dese places. Dey still use dese stupid t'ings?"

"Yeah, they do" Kitty responded indignantly. She didn't exactly appreciate the tone of his voice. He was making fun of her favorite place in the world, after all. Just because regular stores didn't use security measures that could stop a _master thief_ didn't mean they were pathetic, as his reaction seemed to imply. "They keep _normal _people from stealing the merchandise."

Remy, who had just gotten himself together, snorted at Kitty's last statement. "Y' serious, _petite_? Dese t'ings are so easy t' take off, _une bebe _could do it. Here, let me show y'…"

Kitty snatched the garment from his hands and placed it back on the rack before he could finish disassembling the security device. "I'll just, like, take your word for it."

Just as she was wondering if the sales staff had overheard their conversation, she looked up to see a hard-faced middle-aged saleswoman coming their way. '_Yup, they totally heard us_' she thought with a growing sense of dread.

"Can I help you kids find something?" The sales woman asked with a tone and a facial expression that clearly said '_I know what you're up to and you'd better get the hell out of my store before I call security'_.

Kitty prided herself on being a good girl, a perpetual non-rocker-of-boats, and before she met Logan she'd never been in trouble before (but to be fair, even Jean got on Logan's shit list occasionally. It was an easy list to make). So to Kitty, the stern woman in front of her seemed to be less sales clerk and more judge, jury, and executioner. Remy, however, seemed unfazed. He turned to the woman and plastered on a smile that Kitty had heard Bobby refer to as 'The Panty-Dropper'.

"_Bonjour, Cherie_. Perhaps y' can be o' service. We're lookin' t' purchase some t'ings for dese _deux jolies filles _righ' here." He gestured towards Kitty and Rogue. "'m sure we could use the expertise of such a _belle femme _as y'self."

Apparently the woman had an immunity to charm, because it didn't appear to Kitty that her panties would be dropping anywhere in the near future. Before she could respond, Kitty cut in.

"Actually, we were just leaving-"

"Don' be silly, _Chaton_. Y' said dis was one o' y' favorite stores. Y' should look around f' a while, _d'accord_? Why don't y' start us a room, _Cherie_?"

Kitty cursed the phrase 'the customer is always right', because at that point she swore she'd rather be screamed at and kicked out of the store than endure the saleswoman's death glare a moment longer. The irritated woman gritted her teeth and forced on a smile before responding.

"I'll get right on that… _sir_."

Thirteen agonizing minutes later they left the store that Kitty now knew she could never set foot in again.

Remy also had the humiliating habit of avoiding dressing rooms. Kitty could understand the desire; securing a dressing room was one of the most annoying parts of the shopping process. The rooms were always locked, and it seemed whenever one was attempting to find a salesperson to unlock them, the entire staff would disappear without a trace. It was almost as if, for some odd reason, the stores **wanted** you to simply buy their garments without trying them on, only to take them home and discover that the items looked _horrible_ on you, but by then you've either lost the receipt, or it gets ripped or soiled, or you're too busy to make another trip back to the mall… Actually, the more Kitty thought about it, it was an awesome sales tactic. Downright diabolical.

Remy seemed to have no qualms about avoiding the whole process all together. Thankfully he knew his pants size and didn't feel the need to try on anything under the belt. But on the occasion that he needed to see how a shirt would look on him, he would simply strip in the middle of the store. While this action garnered him more than a few appreciative glances from the female shoppers, their **boyfriends **appeared less than amused. **'**_At least he's got a nice body…_' Kitty tried to comfort herself as she attempted to hide behind a rack of clothes to avoid the incriminating looks from everyone else in the store.

Remy's saving grace was that, for a guy, he actually had amazingly good taste in clothes, both men's and women's. Kitty was pleased that he considered nearly all the outfits she suggested, and even bought a few. Unlike the other male inhabitants of the Mansion, he was not 'too cool' to wear clothes that actually looked good, were fashionable, and flattered the body instead of hiding it under miles of fabric. If she saw another pair of loose-fitting cargo pants, Kitty was going to stage an intervention. At least _someone _seemed to like his clothes formfitting.

And although their combined efforts were still not enough to get Rogue anywhere near a formal dress shop, Remy's influence helped Kitty encourage her roommate into more than a few purchases that actually had some style. Sure, almost everything she bought was still either black, gray, dark green, dark blue, or any other color with the word 'dark' in it, but at least their shapes were somewhat flattering.

But like all good things, Remy's good behavior had to come to an end. After two hours of shopping, Kitty started to see the signs. His fingers started to twitch, he began eying the other customers, and he was trying to distance himself from the two girls as stealthily as possible. Obviously, he had the pick-pocket's itch. At one point, he even broke out his playing cards and began shuffling them incessantly, seemingly trying to suppress his urges.

This pissed Kitty off beyond belief. What was with this guy? He couldn't go one day, no, even one _morning_, without breaking the law? How hard was it to be on your best behavior for a few damn hours? He was here with his girlfriend and her friend, it was clearly not the time to be acting like an idiot and trying to get into trouble.

Eventually it seemed that the temptation was too hard to resist. As they were browsing in the last shop of the day, Kitty watched from the corner of her eyes as Remy 'accidentally' bumped into another shopper before excusing himself and walking away. Trying to control her anger, Kitty dropped the shirt she was holding onto the nearest rack and stormed over to Remy, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him out of the store, a confused Rogue trailing behind.

Once she felt they were a safe distance away from his victim, Kitty lashed out.

"REMY! You promised!" she seethed, trying as hard as possible not to cause a scene.

"I don' know what y' talkin' 'bout.." he mumbled, not meeting her eyes. At least he had the good sense to appear ashamed. Rogue stayed silent on the sidelines, seemingly unsure or unwilling to step into the fight between the two.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about," Kitty raged in a tersely quiet voice. "I asked you to be good while we were here! We're not criminals like you, Remy. You couldn't act normal for, like, a few, frickin' hours?! I said, **'no stealing'**!!" And with that, she flicked him fiercely on the nose.

And time stood still.

Kitty stood there, frozen in shock.

'_Oh my gosh. I just flicked him. On the nose.'_

'_Like a dog.'_

For what felt like an eternity, Kitty stared at that exact spot on the tip of his nose, now slightly blushed, too terrified to look him in the eye. When she finally built up enough courage to meet his gaze, she instantly remembered that the man was a former Acolyte. The red in his eyes glowed and pulsated with a rage that he seemed to be containing in his otherwise deathly still body. Fear struck through Kitty, and she flinched when he finally moved. Not saying a word, he grabbed his bags, took Rogue's from her as well, and walked away. Both girls stood, still frozen in shock before Kitty finally spoke.

"I can't believe I did that."

She was expecting a tirade, possibly some violence, from her friend, but what she didn't expect was the look of disappointment on Rogue's face.

"Kitty, he's tryin'."

Kitty knew she should be repentant at this point, but Rogue's words fueled a new fire within her. "You're actually _okay_ with what he did?!" Her friend always seemed to be making excuses for the Cajun, and if she let herself dwell on that fact, it infuriated Kitty. Yes, the man was hot, but he seriously needed to step up his game if he was going to be worthy of Rogue. She was her best friend, and she was everything Kitty wished she was. Strong, confident, smart, and more full of honor and virtue than anyone Kitty knew. Rogue deserved a Prince. One that's in line to be king, not one of those waiting-for-a-brother-to-die ones, but a real one. And certainly not a Prince of Thieves.

Rogue sighed. "No, I'm not okay with it, but I know it's not that easy ta change something' that's such a part of who ya are at the drop of a hat. I was raised ta be a terrorist, remember?"

"Yeah, but you, like, left that life behind."

"And it took time. It's unfair ta expect him ta completely change his view on the world overnight simply because we said so."

Kitty stared at her friend in awe. Where was the Rogue with the quick, self-righteous temper? "How can you be so understanding of all this?"

"Because," Rogue began, looking Kitty straight in the eye. "He's given up everything just ta be with me. Do ya really think Xavier's was his only opinion after his family kicked him out? He could have joined the Brotherhood, or another crime syndicate, hell, he could've gone freelance and made more money than anywhere else! But he gave up his glamorous life of crime ta sit around the mansion all day, tutorin' preteens on French, moppin' floors, trainin' to risk his life for a cause he doesn't even believe in yet, goin' on shoppin' trips just so my friend would like him…"

She paused, and Kitty felt a wave of guilt run over her. "Besides," Rogue continued with a shrug, "I love him."

Kitty knew then that if Remy was good enough for Rogue, he was good enough for her. If there was something in him that had broken through Rogue's hard exterior and made her love him, then there was something in him Kitty just hadn't seen. She would have to spend her time looking for that good from now on, instead of dwelling on the bad.

"Rogue, I'm sorry."

Rogue smiled with good-nature. "Well, that's nice ta hear, but I don't think I'm the one ya should be sayin' it to. Let's go."

The two girls exited the mall and found the car in the parking lot. Remy sat inside in the backseat, his face darkly expressionless as he smoked a cigarette, the smoke climbing out a crack in the window. Kitty was about to ask how he got inside the locked car when she had the keys, but thought better of it. When Rogue opened the backdoor, he continued to stare stone-faced out the window as he muttered "Sit in de front, _Chere_." Rogue awarded him his space without question.

The ride home was thick with apprehensive silence. Kitty mentally rehearsed a myriad of scripted apologies while Remy chain smoked in the back. When they finally arrived back at the mansion, Remy got out of the car wordlessly and lingered at the edge of the garage, leaning against its frame and lighting up again. Rogue gave Kitty a pointed glance that seemed to say '_Fix this NOW' _before making her way inside with her purchases. Kitty girded up her loins before shuffling over to Remy's brooding form.

Suddenly, all her practiced eloquence flew out the window.

"Um, I'm, like, sorry I flicked your nose." Kitty grimaced at the awkwardness of her words.

He took a long drag and blew it out, watching the smoke dance in the cool fall air. "S'Okay."

Kitty found herself also entranced by the twist and turns of the smoke. "I guess I was sort of in a bad mood all morning, and maybe I was, like, a little too hard on you."

He turned to her, ignoring the smoke, and smiled. "Well, y' did start off seein' dis Cajun naked, so 'm sure y' had a lot o' sexual frustration t' deal wit'."

She rolled her eyes with a smile and turned to walk inside, leaving him snickering behind her. If she could learn to deal with Remy LeBeau, motherhood was going to be a piece of cake.

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So, aren't you all excited about that whole "Reviewer Quote of the Week" thing? Don't you want to get in on that action? I totally know you do. There's no purchase nessesary, all you have to do is press that pretty little button on the bottom and let the words fly!

**Narcissistic Author's Notes:** So, in hindsight and on the advice of a very respected reviewer, I'm taking out this particular narcissistic author's note. So for those who have already read it, 14 secret bonus points to you. For those who haven't, just know that I've learned that sometimes one should keep their mouth shut and let the writing do the talking. But there will be other narcissistic author's notes in the future, but more on the line of commentary than what was here...


	4. There's Nothing Like a Family

**Disclaimer: [sarcasm] I own everything. I think I even own FFN, but I'll have to double check on that one. [/sarcasm]**

Thanks so much to all my reviewers, it's really great to have all your feedback, even the ones that don't tell me I'm insanely perfect and my hair looks really good today. It's an honor to receive constructive criticism, because I know it wouldn't be given if you didn't think I had some talent to work from and could learn and improve. But, you know, don't let that discourage you from telling me I'm insanely perfect and my hair looks really good today if that's what you feel like saying. Especially the hair part.

But in case I didn't get the note out to anyone (or if you're one of those devoted lurker-readers who doesn't review. It's cool, I know you're there), I did change a bit in the middle of the last chapter to make it flow better. I PROMISE I will not do that again. From now on, if it's on this site, it means I'm 100% happy with the quality of my work.

Today's chapter is inspired from this suggested randomness from **Randirogue**: _What's so normal about a father-figure with adamantium laced claws?_ You'll see that line in this story. Yes, I realize the other random lines Randirogue wrote were way more interesting. What can I say? This one got the wheels turning.

This week's Reviewer Quote of the Week comes from the beloved **Chica De Los Ojos Cafe** and in a shocking plot-twist, we have two, count 'em _two_ notable quotes from the same review. Gasp!

_"That eternal niceness is only supposed to benefit me..."--Where have I heard that before...oh right I've said that about past boyfriends and current crushes!_ - Everyone take note: Chica's into the guys with savior-complexes. Start taking names.

_"...he would simply strip in the middle of the store."--Okay, why does this not happen when there are Adonis like males in the vicinity? I'm just saying..._ - Ha! I know... Sadly, the inspiration for this scene came from real life. Yes, I actually saw a guy do this. It was odd. And unfortunately, he did not have the type of body that would warrant one taking off articles of clothing in a public place.

One last note: This Chapter assumes that you've seen the episode **Cajun Spice**. I even use some of the dialogue. If you haven't seen it, I don't know, you may be confused a little in the middle, because I don't give a huge explaination for what happened there, it's just assumed knowledge. You can watch the episode on aolvideo . com, just type in "x-men evolution cajun spice" in the search query and choose the video that's like 20-something minutes.

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**Chapter Four: There's Nothing Like a Family to Screw Up a Family**

Remy Lebeau was getting a dog.

It didn't matter how many times the numerous members of the senior staff reminded him that pets were not allowed at the institute, Remy was determined. He was getting a dog.

He had long ago honed his skills in manipulation, and knew exactly how to get his way. The process was three steps. Step one: be persistent and patient. Wearing down another person's defenses should be treated like a marathon, not a sprint. Step two: find a way for the request to benefit the opposing party, even if in only a small way. Step three: continue with life on the notion that the answer to your request is a 'yes' that you simply have not yet received.

Steps two and three had been easy. Everyone at the mansion knew that Remy was working on the assumption that he would be allowed to get his dog as a reward when he passed his GED. The Professor, of course, had not agreed to this arrangement. He had told the young man countless times that, while he agreed that passing the test was a worthwhile endeavor and one that did indeed deserve a reward, that did not change the fact that animals were **not** permitted. When the other students reminded him of this fact, Remy simply stated that, when all was said and done, he had faith that Xavier wouldn't have the heart to let him down when all his hard work came to fruition.

The Professor _had_ made the offer that if Remy quit smoking, he would be allowed to acquire one small, fresh-water, non-tropical, non-exotic fish to be kept in sanitary conditions in his room at all times. The proposition was laughable at best. There was no way that Remy was going to give up one of his favorite vices for a simple goldfish. No, he was holding out for the dog.

He had always wondered what it would be like to have a pet. It seemed like a quintessential, almost cliché normality, like having your dad teach you how to ride a bike or running a lemonade stand in the front yard. Remy never encountered a bike until he was somewhere in his teens, at which point it was more a matter of just getting on the thing and peddling away than having to actually learn how to ride it, and he was drinking bourbon at the bar with his brother when he was twelve, so lemonade stands weren't really of consequence to him. But the pet thing, that one had tugged a bit at his heartstrings. He wanted it. Bad.

Jean-Luc was a stern task-master, and certainly not one who was easily persuaded. Growing up, most if not all of Remy's requests were immediately met with a harsh denial. This of course, was how Remy came to perfect his three-step process, which in the end resulted in the outcome he desired more often than not. The pet request was one of those 'not's. Step one on that front had been going on for eight years and counting. But Remy had a feeling that Xavier would not have quite the same stamina.

The week of Thanksgiving was odd for Remy. He hadn't realized how much he'd grown accustomed to the quiet of the mansion during the week, but with all the students out for the holiday, it was almost a bit unnerving to have his routine broken up. This morning found him sitting at the small kitchen table with Kitty while the other inhabitants of the mansion bustled in and out. She had her laptop out and was showing him a picture of a particular dog she thought was cute from the local animal shelter's website.

"See, isn't she, like, precious? Her name is Daisy and she's a Maltepoo. It's totally rare to find one at a shelter, usually people pay hundreds of dollars for the puppies."

Remy raised an eyebrow incredulously. "_Chaton_, dat dog is da ugliest t'ing I've eva' seen. B'sides, dere's no way I'm gettin' somet'ing called a 'Maltepoo'. Wait, click on dat one righ' dere," he said, pointing at the screen. "Now **dat's **da dog f' me. Hey Scooter," he called out to Scott, who had just sauntered into the kitchen in his pajamas, "come take a look at de dog 'm gettin'."

Even though he muttered the standard "You're not getting a dog", Scott made his way over to the table anyway. Remy had a feeling Scott would end up being a crucial supporter on the dog issue. The two hardly got along, seeing as Scott had a perpetual stick up his ass and Remy had an innate need to hassle anyone who had a perpetual stick up their ass. But although, like a good leader, he was toeing the party line, Remy had seen Scott's slight facial twitch when he had first brought up the idea of getting a pet. Deep down, he wanted it, too. After all, Scott had been a foster child himself.

"That one?" Scott asked doubtfully, eyeing the disheveled mutt on the screen. "Remy, that dog looks two steps away from death. You can see his bones, and look, half of his ear is missing."

"Dat just shows he's a fighta'. He's perfect. I t'ink I'll call 'im Henri." Kitty rolled her eyes at this. Remy had the habit of picking out a new dog at least twice a week now.

"That's a stupid name for a dog." Scott stated, still staring at the mangy animal.

"Hey, dat's m' _frere's_ name." Remy shot back defensively.

"Remy, you name every dog you pick out 'Henri'." Kitty pointed out.

"I do not. Dat one las' week was a _fille_. I named her Mercy."

"And who's that?" Scott asked casually as he walked away from the table to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"What d' y' mean?" Remy questioned.

"Well, you usually name the dogs 'Henri' after your brother, because apparently you can't come up with a name on your own. So I'm assuming 'Mercy' is someone you know."

Remy stared at the computer screen, avoiding the smug look on Scott's face. "Mercy is Henri's wife."

Both Kitty and Scott burst into laughter.

"Ok, One-eye," Remy shot back defensively, "if y' so good at namin' t'ings, what would **you** call 'im?"

Scott walked back over to the table and examined the picture once more. "Blacky."

"Blacky?"

"Yeah," Scott started, taking a sip of his coffee and pointing absent-mindedly at the screen, "because his fur's kind of black. You know, where he still has fur."

Remy scoffed. "Blacky. Dat's stupider den 'Henri'. Y' can no longer give me crap about what I name m' dog."

"How about 'Gaston'?" Kitty suggested.

Scott and Remy stared at her quizzically.

"It's from 'Beauty and the Beast'."

The young men continued to stare her down.

"It's French," she tried, "You know, _you're_ French."

Finally, she gave up with a sigh.

"This whole argument is pointless," Scott pointed out. "I mean, you're not getting a dog, but even if you were, which you're not…" Remy rolled his eyes. "there's no way that dog is still going to be around when you pass your GED. Are you anywhere close to being ready to take it?"

After a moment, Remy responded dejectedly. "_Non_." To be honest, the task was proving to be harder than expected. Remy's earlier education had not prepared him nearly as well as both he and the Professor had previously hypothesized.

"That dog will be euthanized by next week."

Remy scowled. "Dat's a horrible t'ing t' say."

"Fine," Scott said, rolling his eyes, "I'm sure that dog will be adopted by a loving family in the market for a half-dead carcass just like him by next week. That better?"

Remy glared at him. "_Oui. Merci._"

"Scott, stop being such an asshole."

"Kitty! Language."

Kitty rolled her eyes. "Fine," she mocked back in a sarcastic tone that would make her roommate proud. "Scott, stop being such a self-righteous douche-bag. That better?"

"Whatever…" Scott muttered before leaving the kitchen, his cup of coffee in hand.

Kitty turned back to Remy. "I'm going to bookmark this page for you, okay? And maybe we can, like, go down to the shelter or call them or something when they open back up next week."

Remy gave her a half-hearted smile before getting up from the table. "Dat's okay, Kit-Kat. Scooter's right. Dat dog'll be dead by den."

By now, Remy was used to things not working out the way he wanted them to.

Though generally his behavior would seem to indicate otherwise, there had been a time when Remy actually _wanted_ to be the good son. He came from nothing, and when he was taken in by the Guild, they offered him their throne. The fighter in him required that he struggle and push boundaries every step of the way, but in his heart he wanted nothing more than to make Jean-Luc proud. The man had saved him from the hell he was living on the streets. He had swooped in like a White Knight and given Remy the opportunity to have everything he had ever wanted: home, family, comfort, honor. The fact that Jean-Luc had chosen him as his heir over his own offspring made Remy feel privileged, maybe even loved.

And for many years, his engagement to Belladonna had felt more like a blessing than a curse. She was beautiful, and she seemed to actually _want_ to be with him. And in his mind, she represented the start of a family, **his** family. Not one that he was added into, but one that was 100% his very own. Their marriage would bring a peace to the Guild that had been sought for hundreds of years, and it filled Remy with an immense sense of pride to know that he would be the means by which it would be obtained.

And then one day when he was seventeen, it all came crashing down.

It's a funny thing how so many of life's most crucial moments come down to chance. If Remy hadn't noticed that particular phrase as he skimmed the pages of the book, or if he had grabbed the correct Guild History book in the first place, things might never have changed. If Jean-Luc had decided to go to the Guild's archives to find the information he needed himself instead of sending his son, or if Remy hadn't passed his father's study on the way to the kitchen for an afternoon snack, Remy could have ended up a happily married man awaiting his time to lead as the head of the Thieves Guild. But destiny had another outcome in mind, and all those pieces fell perfectly into place on that fateful day.

Skimming through the headlines trying to find the section on an obscure Guild Law that would help his father settle a disagreement between two thieves, Remy's heart stopped in his chest upon reading that one crucial phrase: _le diable blanc_. The White Devil. For as long as he could remember, that name had referred to him. Remy had always assumed it was simply a cruel nickname based on his tragically demonic eyes. Until that day he hadn't known that the title had been around since before he was born.

Remy sat in horror, the large book laid out in front of him on the table, reading about the prophesy. _Le Diable Blanc _was prophesied to unite the warring Thieves and Assassins Guilds, and to bring great power to the Thieves.

Suddenly he realized that was the only reason he had been taken in. Everything he thought he'd had, everything he held dear, was gone in an instant as if it had never existed.

Both being stubborn to a fault, Remy and Jean-Luc had had their share of shouting matches over the years, but the one that would take place that day would blow the rest out of the water.

"You USED me, from da very beginnin'!"

"I did not'ing of da sort. I trained y', made y' what y' are today!"

"What I am? 'm a **tool**, dat's what I am!"

"Y' my **son**, Remy. Y' da Prince o' T'ieves."

"Because some _prophesy_ said so. Y' did none of dat f' me, it was all because y' **had **to! I was neva' a son t' you! Y' knew I was a mutant. Y' were jus' _waitin'_ t' use m' powers when y' took me in!"

"Please, boy, look at y' eyes. O' course I knew y' was a mutant! Didn' need no prophesy t' tell me dat."

"Y' push me harda', longa' den anyone else… it's neva' good enough f' you unless 'm **perfect**!"

"Because y' have so much potential, Remy-"

"Because I'm _LE DIABLE BLANC_!"

"Y' got no right comin' t' me like dis, boy."

"No right? No right?! Afta' all y' put me t'rough-"

"All I put y' t'rough? What, like feedin' y'? Clothin' y'? Putting a roof ova' y' head?"

"Workin' me t' da bone, usin' me, **lying **t' me…"

"Nobody lied t' y', Remy. We jus' didn't tell y' all da details. De prophesy? It's inconsequential. It changes not'ing."

"It changes **EVERYT'ING**!"

For the first time in seven years, the LeBeau mansion no longer felt like home, so he packed his belongings and left that very night.

After wandering the Big Easy for a few days, Remy remembered a mutant named Magneto that had contacted the Guild seeking to contract out "the powerful young mutant thief". Jean-Luc had refused, claiming the Thieves had no desire to work with a megalomaniac. Upon remembering this, Remy immediately contacted the man and took the contract, knowing Jean-Luc would be furious when he learned of his new position. Of course, it didn't take him long to realize that in allowing himself to be used for the terrorist's cause just to piss off his father he was essentially cutting off his nose to spite his face. It was a decision he had regretted until the fortunate day when he encountered a beautiful girl with bright green eyes and an unusual stripe in her hair…

Rogue made it clear that she was excited to share Remy's first Thanksgiving with him. The Thieves didn't celebrate the holiday, though he wasn't sure if it was because it was an American tradition or due to the fact that it was a prime working season for the Guild, seeing as so many of their targets would be out of town, busy entertaining guests, or placated by the inaccurate assumption that no one 'worked' on holidays. Either way, the Thieves weren't exactly the 'let us all sit around and give thanks for our blessings' type. They were more into 'eat, drink, for tomorrow we may die', which was probably why Mardi Gras suited them just fine.

"Remy, I have no idea what yer goin' ta wear tomorrow" Rogue stated while riffling through his closet. "Why didn't ya bring any nice clothes with ya? I thought a 'ladies man' like yerself would know how to 'dress ta impress'."

"Got no one t' impress but you, _Chere_. Explain t' me again why we have t' dress up?" he called out to her from his casually sprawled out position on the bed.

"Because," she answered, "it's Thanksgivin' Dinner. Haven't ya ever dressed up for dinner before?"

"Yeah, when we went somewhere nice or we had a special guest comin' o' somet'in'. We got guests comin'?"

"Well," she answered, emerging from the closet with a simple black long-sleeved t-shirt in hand, "no, it'll just be the usual gang."

"We goin' anywhere special?" he asked, presenting her with his trademark smirk.

"No. Just the same old dining room table."

"Da one we ate dinna' at tonight?"

"The very same. Put this on," she said, tossing the shirt in his direction.

"Chere, explain t' me da difference between tomorrow's meal and da one we jus' ate," he said, while pulling off his t-shirt, "where I wore my ol' pair o' jeans an' y' were in y' pajamas."

"Swamp Rat! This is a tracksuit, not pajamas." She huffed indignantly, her hands on her hips.

He gave her a once over before pulling the black shirt over his head. "I fail t' see da diff'rence."

This earned him a hard hit with a pillow in his face, to which he let out a rich, hearty laugh.

"Jerk."

"Ah, _Chere_, y' know y' love dis Cajun."

"Yeah, well," she rolled her eyes, "it's fadin', seein' as yer trying yer hardest ta ruin my favorite holiday."

"_Je suis desole_, _ma_ _Cherie_. I would neva' dream o' ruinin' da sacred ritual of stuffin' y' face." He held his arms out in a grand display. "So, how's it look?"

Rogue examined him for a moment. "Throw on a pair of khaki's and it'll do. Ok, take it off."

"All y' had t' do was ask, _Chere_," he said with a smirk before stripping the shirt off and replacing it with the original.

"And it's not just about 'stuffin' y' face', as ya so eloquently put it," she said, sitting down on his queen-sized bed and leaning comfortably against the headboard. He laid down on his back perpendicular to her and put his head in her lap, knowing if he was patient enough she would eventually start running her fingers through his hair absent-mindedly the way he liked.

"Okay den, enlighten m' on da _magic_ o' T'ansgivin'," he teased, smiling up at her.

"It's not 'magical', smartass. I just like it, okay? I mean, most of the students leave ta see their family at Christmas, so this is like our big get-togetha'. And the food is amazin'. The Professor likes ta give everyone the day off, so he has the whole thing catered…" Remy closed his eyes as Rogue began brushing through his hair as she reminisced. "I'm sure it costs him a fortune, but danged if it ain't worth it, because I swear it's the best meal o' the whole year."

"Hmmm…" he purred, completely content with her ministration.

"And then afta' dinner most of us go ta the rec room and watch football and pass out on the couch for the rest o' the day." She paused. "I guess there's not much to it, but it's just sort of a nice day, ya know."

"'s tradition," he slurred, feeling her lull him close to sleep.

"Oh, that reminds me!" she stated suddenly, sitting up a bit straighter and breaking his trance. "There is this one thing we do every year, at dinner. Professor likes us all ta go around the table and say somethin' we're thankful for. The adults all take it serious, and Scott too, of course, but the rest of us just take jabs at each otha'."

"What d' y' mean?"

"Well," Rogue said thoughtfully, "like last year, Kitty said she was thankful for earphones so Sam could listen ta his awful country music and no one else had ta hear it, and Roberto said he was thankful for the emergency eyewash station in the medlab after he walked in on Scott and Jean makin' out."

"Oh, I get it."

"Maybe ya could say ya're thankful ya're gettin' a dog. That'd be sure ta piss some people off."

Remy frowned and looked away from her, suddenly very interested in the designs in his ceiling. "I don't t'ink 'm gettin' a dog anymore."

"Aw, yer a lightweight, yer givin' up already?" she teased. "I can't believe the Professor wore ya down!"

"Nah, 's not dat, it's jus'…"

"It's just what?" she asked, staring down at him pointedly.

"'s not'ing. Jus' something Scott said. I don' wanna talk 'bout it, let's jus' watch some tv or somet'in'."

Rogue grabbed the remote away from him just as he reached for it. "Remy…" she said threateningly. Clearly she was not in the mood for a runaround.

He sighed and pulled himself up into a sitting position next to her, avoiding eye contact. "I jus' don' t'ink I'm eva' gonna pass dat test."

"What, did Scott say that?!" Rogue started to seethe. "I'm gonna kick his ass!"

"Easy, _Chere_, he didn't say dat exactly." Remy wasn't sure why he was defending the guy; the thought of Rogue beating the living daylights out of their fearless leader was entertaining for sure. "Da t'ing is, 'm good at a lot o' t'ings, and I mean a LOT o' t'ings," he raised his eyebrows suggestively at her before sighing. "I jus' don' t'ink dis school t'ing is one o' dem."

"Remy, you've been workin' at it for less than two months. The test goes over stuff ya're supposed ta learn in _twelve years _of school. Ya gotta give yerself more credit. And more time."

He rubbed his eyes with the heals of his hands in frustration. "'m just tired o' feelin' stupid, _Chere_." Even Remy was surprised he'd just admitted that.

"Ya're not stupid," she responded instantly.

"Yeah, well, I feel stupid."

Rogue caught the side of his face with her gloved hand and turned him to look her in the eye.

"Ya're not stupid, Remy."

He didn't know how to respond, so he simply dropped his gaze.

Rogue seemed to pick up on his discomfort as she attempted to lighten the mood. "Besides, there's no way I'm letting ya give up on gettin' a dog. You've wanted one since ya were a kid, and the idea of Logan scoopin' dog crap off the manor grounds is hilarious."

"'m pretty sure he'd make me do it."

"Are ya kidding? With his heightened sense of smell, if ya left it long enough, it'd drive him crazy and he'd just go do it himself. Or make one of the new recruits do it as punishment or somethin'. Oh, that reminds me! I never did tell ya about what Tabitha did in the Danger Room last week! Oh my gosh, Remy, it was so freakin' funny…Okay, so first off, ya know that new program Logan's got? So, he wanted her to try it out…"

Remy smiled and leaned back to rest against the headboard as he listened to the girl next to him recount her tale. Rogue's upbringing had been nearly as tragic and dysfunctional as his own, but here she had formed herself an almost normal family of her own liking. Though, truth be told, what's so normal about a father-figure with adamantium laced claws? The benefit, of course, was that Logan was the overprotective type who would defend his charges from almost any harm that could come their way, whereas Remy had been the one who was forced to save his own foster father from danger.

Remy had debated answering his phone that day. Nothing good could come from taking a call from the LeBeau mansion. But a deep-rooted sense of duty forced him to pick up. It had been Henri. It was a smart move on the Guild's part; Remy could never say no to his brother. The two had been close from the start, and despite all that had happened, Remy had always felt a strong family bond with the older man. While Jean-Luc had taken Remy into his home, Henri had taken him into his heart, bringing him in under his wing and looking out for his best interest at all times. Although their blood would say otherwise, Remy never doubted that Henri saw him as kin.

His brother had begged him to come back, to help find their fallen leader. Henri was strong, but he was a soldier, not a sergeant. Remy had always thought before that this was the reason Henri was passed over for the throne, and he later suspected that his own introduction to the Guild was seen as a blessing in this regard, aside from the prophesy, by both Henri and his father.

Remy had been reluctant to head back to New Orleans, for the obvious reasons as well as the fact that he was in the middle of a personal endeavor to observe the stripe-haired mutant that for some reason had captured his fancy. In the end he found, as much as he wanted to, something inside him could not refuse, and so he simply brought his pet project along with him.

When Remy found Jean-Luc at the Assassin's stronghold, the man had seemed genuinely surprised to see him.

"Remy, what're y' doin' here?"

Remy sighed. "I been askin' m'self dat very question."

If he was grateful to see his prodigal son, Jean-Luc didn't show it. They'd parted on bad terms, and the man was not one to easily forget.

"Y' actually came back," Jean-Luc spat out venomously. "I t'ought y' walked away from dis life."

"I did. I'm jus' here f' you." Remy said this more for himself than anything, but despite his best efforts, he could already feel himself being pulled back in.

"Even afta' _all_ I put y' t'rough." Only Jean-Luc LeBeau was stubborn enough to hold a grudge during his own rescue. Remy didn't mistake his own words being shot back at him.

"Don' get any ideas, Jean-Luc. Not'ings changed b'tween us." Remy, of course, was stubborn, too. "Now let's go."

"Wait a minute."

Remy huffed in exasperation. "What?"

"We in da heart of da Rippers' stronghold. Do ya know what an opportunity dis is?"

"Forget it, we're out of time."

"Remy, listen to me, let's raid this place and do some real damage." Jean-Luc was born to be the King of Thieves. When provoked, he was ruthless. "We can ruin dere family."

'_Like you ruined mine_,' Remy thought. "Y' don't need me f' dat."

"No I don't." The man had a temper and a serious mean-streak, and he knew how to make it hurt. "But I do need y' powers."

Remy knew it was a cheap shot, and that Jean-Luc may even apologize for it later, but that didn't stop it from stinging just as badly.

"I was right. Not'ing _has_ changed."

In the end, Rogue departed with her family, and Remy was left with his, for lack of a better term. He walked with Jean-Luc in silence until they were a safe distance from Blood Moon Bayou before pulling out his phone and calling for a car to pick them up. The drive back to the LeBeau mansion was silent as well. It wasn't until he closed the manor's heavy doors behind them that Jean-Luc finally spoke.

"_Fils_…"

"_Je ne suis pas votre fils_." Remy spat back instinctively.

Jean-Luc paused for a moment before continuing.

"Remy, da prophesy said y'd be a T'ief, not a LeBeau. Dat was **my** choice. I _chose_ y' t' be my son."

It was then that Remy realized, no matter what happened between them, he would always be indebted to this man. When Jean-Luc took him off the streets as a child, he had rescued him from the hell of a young life doomed to picking pockets for sometimes mere pennies, sleeping in gutters through long cold nights, surviving on scavenged table scraps and garbage or servicing traveling businessmen in back alleys to earn enough money for a decent meal. Jean-Luc had saved him, and given him a chance at a real life. That act had sealed a bond between the two. As much as he may resent it, Remy knew that deep down, he would forever be bound to love this man.

"I want y' t' come home," Jean-Luc continued, moving closer to Remy as they both stood awkwardly in the entryway. "I want y' t' fulfill y' duty t' me, t' marry Belladonna. Dis incident has proven jus' how much we need da peace."

"Remy," he repeated. "I want y' t' come home, _mon fils_."

Remy was unable to meet his gaze, but he knew what his response had to be.

"_Oui, pere_."

For the months that followed, Remy tried his hardest to regain the life he'd once had in New Orleans. In some areas he had marginal success. Eventually life with the Guild began to feel like home again, albeit a home now plagued by bad memories and constant nagging reminders that he'd been truly and unremarkably happy once. His relationship with Belladonna, however, fared far worse.

For so many years he had believed that she'd agreed to be party to the marriage because she wanted to be with him, maybe even loved him. But after he learned the truth about the prophesy, all he could think was that she _had _to be with him, and that thought haunted him anytime they were together. Every time she flinched when he took his sunglasses off, when she glanced at another man walking down the street, when she looked away from his gaze for a moment when they made love, he noticed, and the word '**arranged**' would ring out clearly in his mind. He soon began to associate her face with the bitter pang of resentment, a stark contrast to the comforting feeling of freedom that filled him every time he talked to Rogue.

Although the way the engagement ended could hardly be called a blessing, Remy was extremely relieved that he would not be tied down to the Assassin. He couldn't imagine spending the rest of his life with someone that he doubted had ever loved him. It wouldn't have mattered if he had asked her, if she had given him assurances of her affections. Some misgivings just don't go away. And besides, by the end, his heart was already in another place.

Thanksgiving dinner proved to be as delicious as Rogue had promised. Sure, it was Northern food and lacked the spice that he craved, but it was good none the less. By far it was better than anything Kitty would have conjured up, seeing as it would have been her turn in the kitchen had it not been for the holiday. Storm had put together a beautiful centerpiece using fresh plants and flowers still on the vine, and it was amusing to look around the large table and see some of the younger male students squirm in their stuffy dress clothes.

As Rogue had outlined, once everyone was finished eating, the Professor called for the group to take turns giving thanks for their blessings. Xavier was thankful for the peace they had enjoyed for the past few months, to which Storm seconded and added her appreciation of the growing acceptance of mutants from the human population. Logan muttered something about food and shelter, which Remy guessed was about as mushy as the man was ever going to get. Beast recited some sort of soliloquy that was completely over Remy's head, but he caught the phrase 'pursuit of knowledge' in there somewhere and figured the man was babbling about the success of one of his recent experiments.

When it was Scott's turn, everyone was surprised when, after reciting a predictable speech about the opportunity for responsibility and leadership, he added, "Oh, and I'm also thankful for the no-pets policy we have here, because Gambit causes enough damage around this place without a wild animal for a sidekick."

The entire group stared at Scott in stunned silence before Rogue finally spoke up.

"Is the world comin' to an end, or did Scott Summer's just crack a joke?"

Everyone burst into laughter, and the Comedy Hour of thankfulness began. As the atmosphere rolled and ebbed with a chorus of laughter, Remy couldn't help but be reminded of home. Though the past few years of his life had been rife with drama, the time before had been one filled with a great deal of happiness with the Thieves Guild. They'd shared many family dinners, much like this, sitting around a big table, laughing and teasing one another.

As Rogue laughed heartily at something Kurt said, Remy was reminded of his own brother, of the many meals they'd spent sitting together, sharing secrets, plotting against their crazy cousins, bragging about the day's successes. He felt a lump form in his throat as he realized that, although he'd first fled from the Guild on his own accord, this time he'd been banished. Exiled. And no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't go back.

Suddenly, Rogue nudged Remy's side and broke him from his reverie. "Sug', it's yer turn."

Remy looked around at the table of expectant eyes that apparently had been watching him, and he suddenly felt out of place. His mind was somewhere else.

"_Pardon_," he muttered, getting up from the table, "I need a smoke."

He grabbed his jacket and headed out the back door. As he came upon the gazebo, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his packet of cigarettes. It hadn't just been an excuse to leave; he really did need a smoke.

Remy lit the cig with the tip of his finger and put it to his mouth, taking a long hard drag before blowing the smoke out with a sigh. Unfortunately, he had another desire that the nicotine was not fulfilling. Finally, after a few minutes of silent debate, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and began dialing the familiar number. It was childish and silly, but he didn't care. He wanted to call home.

"_Bonjour_, LeBeau Manor."

"Marcel, put Jean-Luc on the phone."

"Remy? Dat you?" Marcel was one of the newer thieves, and he usually was assigned to phone duty seeing as he was proficient at doing very little else.

"Yeah, 's me," Remy answered, trying to quell his annoyance. "Is Jean-Luc dere?"

"I… uh… Remy, I don' t'ink 'm supposed-"

"Just put him on da phone, Marcel!" Remy cut him off.

The phone on the other end was muffled as he waited, leaning back against the gazebo's railing and taking another long drag from his cigarette. After a few minutes, Jean-Luc's voice came through the line.

"Remy?"

"_Oui_, 's me."

"Y' in trouble?" Jean-Luc sounded anxious.

"_Non, non_… I jus'…" Remy suddenly wasn't so sure why he called. "I jus' wanted t'…"

"Y' can't come home, Remy," his father stated.

"I know dat," he responded morosely.

There was a pause as both men seemed unsure of what to say. Eventually, Jean-Luc broke the silence.

"Look, I should even be talkin' t' ya. Da Rippers are still furious 'bout what happened, and da peace treaty is on shaky grounds. If dey found out about da money I sent y', dat'd be it. Y' did get da check, didn' y'?"

"_Oui, pere. Merci_." Remy didn't know what else to say.

"Remy…"

"I jus'…" he started, not sure how he was going to finish his sentence. He just felt like he had to say something, or else the call would be over and he'd be left feeling unsatisfied. "I jus' wanted t' call an' say dat… dat I missed y'."

Jean-Luc paused before responding.

"I'm sorry f' da way t'ings worked out, _fils_." Remy knew he wasn't lying. This wasn't what anyone had planned.

"I know."

"Did everyt'ing go okay wit' dat doctor?" Jean-Luc asked. "He get y' powers fixed up right?"

Remy suppressed the desire to answer truthfully.

"Yeah."

He didn't want to his father to what had happened on that front. He would never have sent Remy there if he'd known of Essex's true nature. Jean-Luc could be cruel, but nothing Remy could ever do would cause his father to purposefully send him into such a nightmare.

"An' are dose X-folks treatin' y' alright?"

"_Oui_," he answered, stubbing out his cigarette on one of the gazebo's beams. "I'm gettin' a dog," he added with a laugh.

"Are y' now?" Jean-Luc chuckled doubtfully. "How 'bout dat girl, y' doin' right by her?"

Remy was surprised by this. "How'd y' know 'bout her?"

"Please, boy, what'd y' take me for, some senile ol' fool? I saw da way y' looked at her when y' brought her down. I've got y' cell phone records, y' talked t' her nearly every day y' were here, while y' were still engaged t' Belle, I might add. I hope y' treatin' dis one right."

"_Oui, pere_," he responded, turning around to lean forward and rest his elbows on the railing, looking out passively across the Manor's extensive grounds.

"_Bien_. It was cute watchin' y' bed women nearly twice y' age when y' were fifteen, but y're a man now. Y' ought t' be actin' like one."

"_Oui, pere,_" he repeated. Remy paused. "Can I talk t' Henri?"

"Y' know y' can't."

"Yeah, I know." He fought back the lump in his throat. "I was jus'… hopin'…"

"I gotta go now, Remy." He knew the conversation had already gone on longer than his father had intended, but he didn't really want to get off the line.

"Yeah, okay."

Jean-Luc paused for a long moment.

"_Je t'aime, petite_."

It had been years since he'd heard those words, long before their falling out, and despite his resolve, they brought tears to Remy's eyes.

"_Je t'aime aussi, papa_," he croaked out, barely above a whisper.

"Dis whole t'ing, it's gonna blow ova'. You'll be able t' come home again some day. Jus' give it time. I gotta go."

He hung up the line before Remy could answer. The Lebeau men weren't exactly accustomed to expressing their feelings.

He quickly wiped the traitorous tears that had fallen from his face as he felt a pair of slender arms wrap around his shoulders from behind. He had been so consumed by his conversation with his father that Remy hadn't noticed Rogue approaching. '_I must be losing my touch' _he thought to himself.

"Ya doin' okay, Rems?"

"Yeah," he answered, still staring straight ahead.

"It's kinda cold out here," she said gently. "Why don't ya come inside?"

"Sure," he responded, still motionless and gazing out at the land in front of him.

"Okay," she said, sidling up next to him, leaning back against the rail casually and catching his eye. "This was goin' ta be a surprise, but ya look like ya could use some cheerin' up, so 'm just gonna tell ya now…" She waited until he looked sufficiently intrigued before she continued. "So I talked ta the Professor, and I know it's not exactly what ya wanted, but he said for Christmas I could get ya a turtle. Or a lizard, it's yer choice."

Remy let himself get caught up in the joyful sparkle in her eyes. Smiling finally, he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. He felt her stiffen slightly; he knew Rogue was still uncomfortable with such close contact, but she was getting used to it. She, like so many things in his life, would take some time. He loosened his grip enough to smile down on her.

"Dat's okay, _Chere_. I'm holdin' out f' da dog."

* * *

Less-obvious French Translations:

_frere_: brother

_fils_: son

_Je ne suis pas votre fils:_ I'm not your son

_pere_: father

_Je t'aime, petite:_ I love you, little one

_Je t'aime aussi, papa:_ I love you too, dad/daddy/'father' in an informal sense

Note: A lot of the French words should have that cool flicky thing above the 'e', but I tried researching how to get Works on Microsoft Vista to do this, and apparently it's impossible unless you speak technobabble.

* * *

I hope you liked it, this chapter was actually really enjoyable to write. I have Narcissistic Author's Notes for this one, more along the lines of commentary, but I'm not going to post it here. I mostly wrote them for myself, just for fun to remember the path that led me to what I wrote, but if anyone would like to read them, just tell me in your **REVIEW** (which you were going to write anyway, right?) and I'll post the NAN in your **REVIEW** reply. Look at that, more motivation to **REVIEW**! See, I'm desperate enough to try and bribe you (albeit lamely) for them. That's sort of sad, no? Why don't you help me become less pathetic by **REVIEW**ING and fulfilling my insatiable need for feedback. Maybe if I get enough I'll be strong enough to go it on my own... eventually. Oh, did I mention how much I want you to **REVIEW**? No? Oh, well I do. So please **REVIEW**!


	5. Control

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Seriously. Why are you looking at me like that?**

Extra big Thank You and a Woot Woot to all my reviewers. You all seriously rock. I have the best reviewers. Ok, actually, Tamarai has the best reviewers, but I have a lot of the _same_ reviewers, just minus, like, a hundred. But serious, that kid is insane. Are you reading "Absolutely Maybe"? If not, stop what you're doing and go read that. Scratch that, read this first, give me a big fat review, _then_ go read "Absolutely Maybe". And like everything else Tamarai has written. Amazing stuff.

Reviewer Quotes of the Week (because who can pick just one?):

From Chica: _When I think about the words 'Remy LeBeau' and 'dog' in the same sentence, I definitely don't picture them in THAT  
sequence. _HA!

And from Wanda W: _I also admit that [Rogue's] immediate and rabid defense of Remy against others (including himself) making him feel unintelligent, incapable, or destined to fail was one of my favorite parts. _Yeah, I see her as fiercely loyal.

This chapter is dedicated to Star-of-Chaos, who's earlier advice helped remind me to be patient and persistant when parts of this didn't come out of my head and onto the screen as quickly and easily as I would have like them to.

* * *

For all of you who really, really wanted Remy to get a dog:

A loud thunk resonated throughout the mansion as someone knocked on the large main doors. Logan went to answer it, with Remy at his heel. When he opened the door, there stood a middle aged man with a small, yet adorable mutt sitting patiently at his feet.

"Excuse me," the man said, "but I was driving down the road and I noticed this dog walking along the side of the road not far from here. Is he yours?"

Both Remy and Logan looked at the dog.

"Sorry, he ain't ours," Logan responded. Remy tried to hide his disappointment. It was a cute dog.

"Well," the man continued, "he doesn't seem to have a home. Perhaps you'd like to take him in." Remy's face beamed as he turned to Logan expectantly.

"Can we, Logan, can we?"

Logan smiled. "Sure, kid."

Remy ran forward, kneeling down to scratch the dog behind his ears. "Gee, thanks, Logan! Dis dog sure is swell!" He smiled up at the stranger. "T'anks, Mista'! I'll take real good care o' him, honest!"

The man tipped his hat and went on his way. Remy brought the dog inside, Logan closing the door behind them. From that day on Remy and his dog were the best of friends and had all sorts of exciting adventures together.

The End.

: )

* * *

**Chapter Five: Control**

When you wake up lying in a heap on the floor in the middle of the entryway with a pounding headache, you know it's going to be a bad day.

Remy opened his sensitive eyes a crack to find that he was squashed face-first against the hardwood floor. Closing his eyes to shield from the blinding light that seemed to penetrate like a knife into his brain, he rolled over and sat up with an exaggerated groan. His stomach was doing summersaults, his neck ached from being kinked at an odd angle against the floor for heaven knows how long, and the pounding in his head threatened to cause his skull to burst as seven sets of Jamies bounded down the stairs like a herd of elephants. It was going to be a very, very bad day.

It had seemed like such a good idea the night before when Logan suggested they head to the bar. It was finals week, and the tension in the mansion could be cut with a knife. Apparently by Thursday night Logan had had his fill of stressed-out teenagers. He suddenly stormed into the library, his leather jacket in hand, to where Remy was sitting at a table quizzing Bobby and Sam in preparation for their French final. Logan tossed Remy's keys on the table in front of him.

"I'm sick of these damn procrastinating morons and their whinin'. I'm goin' to Harry's. You comin'?"

The short hairy man couldn't have looked more like an angel if he tried.

Remy beamed up at him like the savior he was. "Oh, hell yeah." He grabbed his keys and trench coat and bolted for the door before Bobby called out to him.

"Hey! You're supposed to be helping us!"

Remy turned on his heel and glared at the boy. "Bobby, _vous crétin indolent, vous allez rater cette épreuve avec ou sans mon aide._"

"Huh?"

"Exactly."

Looking back on it now, Remy should have known it was a bad idea. When Logan was irritated, he had a wicked sense of humor, and nothing tickled his funny bone more than watching the Cajun drink himself stupid.

Painfully picking himself off the floor, Remy tried to recall the details of the night before. He remembered the bar. He remembered Logan. He remembered Bourbon. Lots of Bourbon. Lots and lots of Bourbon.

'_Merde_.'

He made his way to the kitchen, intent on reaching coffee as soon as humanly possible. Reeling from the explosion of noise upon entering, Remy scanned the packed room for a the source of his salvation.

And there she was.

His eyes locked upon Rogue, standing next to the counter and suddenly appearing twenty times more beautiful than usual due to the full pot of coffee in her hands. He weaved his way through the various teenagers that filtered through the kitchen getting ready for school until he reached her side.

"_Bon Matin, Chére_. Y' wanna pour one o' dose f' Remy?" he asked, gesturing towards the cup in her hands.

After finishing filling her own cup, she finally turned to look at him and fixed him with an unexpected death glare. The look on her face said anything but 'Good Morning, Remy, I'd love to get you some coffee'. In fact, if her look could talk, it would probably be getting a week's worth of early morning DR sessions for using profane language in front of Jamie.

Without saying a word, she decisively turned away from him, stormed over to the sink, and poured the remaining coffee down the drain.

"What de hell, _Chére_, I was gonna drink dat!"

"What, you got a hangover or somethin'?" she asked.

Without warning, she threw the pot down into the sink, busting it into pieces with a momentous crash that made the pounding in his head reach jackhammer proportions. Well, so much for making a new batch.

The bustling of students stopped as everyone froze in reaction to Rogue's outburst. It'd been a while since she'd had one, and the other inhabitants of the mansion were no longer conditioned to ignore them.

"I'm drivin' the van, so anyone who wants a ride better get their ass in gear in the next two minutes or they're walkin'!" she fumed. And with that, she stomped out of the kitchen, leaving a wake of stunned and now very rushed teenagers.

"What da hell did I do?" Remy asked no one in particular. No one paid him much notice as they gathered their belongs and rushed after Rogue to avoid being left behind on the last day of finals. When most of the students had left, Jean motioned to Scott at the kitchen table before making her way out of the room. She paused as she passed Remy, still leaning against the counter motionless, both from the shock of Rogue's tantrum and the pain of his hangover.

"Um," she mutter nervously, barely glancing at his face, "that lipstick's a really nice shade on you, Remy." She sheepishly hurried off with a chuckling Scott following her out of the room.

"What?" Remy whirled around and grabbed the toaster, being the first reflective surface he could find. Staring at his distorted image, he saw the smear of pink across his lips. "Aw, _Merde_!"

A low, throaty laugh erupted from behind him, and Remy turned around to find Logan, now sitting alone at the kitchen table with a huge grin plastered across his face.

"You!" Remy seethed. "Dis is all y' fault!"

This only seemed to amuse the man further. "Me?" he asked between chuckles. "How exactly is this my fault?"

"You were da one who kept pushin' more drinks on me." Most of the previous night was still fuzzy, but Remy could distinctly recall Logan egging him on.

"Oh please, Gumbo. Ya ain't some leggy blonde and I ain't a horny college student. It's not like I was buying ya round after round trying to get ya drunk. The only thing I said to ya on the matter the entire night, word for word, was, 'Ya had enough, Cajun?'. It ain't my fault that every time I asked ya that, your answer was 'no'." Logan smiled and leaned back in his chair with a look of extreme self-satisfaction.

Remy stared at the man in horror. "Dis was all one o' y' little mind games, wasn't it?"

Logan smiled like the cat that got the canary. "I don't know what you're talkin' about, kid. I do know, however, that you have _got _to learn some self-control."

Remy groaned and leaned forward to lay his aching head against the cool granite countertop on the island. "Dis had not'in' to do wit' me. Y' were just pissed at _les enfants _so y' decided t' screw wit' me f' kicks."

Logan chuckled. "That might have had something to do with it. But it was a lesson I've been meaning to teach ya for a while now. You're completely out of control, Cajun. Ya don't know when to stop."

"Sure I do," he mumbled, his voice muffled against the countertop. "I stop drinkin' when y' tell me I've had enough an' drag m' sorry ass home." He sighed. "Rogue's gonna kill me." He pulled his head up enough to glare at the man across the room. "Where da hell were y', anyway? Usually y' stop me from doin' stupid stuff like dis when 'm too piss-drunk t' know what da hell 'm doin'…"

Logan got up from his chair and sauntered over to the refrigerator. "First of all, I do that for _Rogue_, not you." He opened the fridge and leaned over, reaching for something in the back. "And second of all, I did stop ya. I pulled ya off the tramp as soon as I could, and I stopped her _boyfriend _from beating the living daylights out of ya. So you're welcome." He pulled a bottle of beer out and closed the door. "I didn't notice the lipstick. Here." He walked over and placed the bottle on the counter next to Remy's throbbing head. "Hair of the dog."

Remy eyed the bottle warily. "I made out wit' a _femme _in front o' her boyfriend? Dat's kinda bold even f' me."

This got Logan laughing again. "Well, actually, you were hitting on the _guy_ first."

Remy shot up from the counter. "I did **WHAT**?!"

"Well," Logan started, trying to control his laughter enough to talk. "You were going off on some tirade about how you're the sexiest thing on the planet, no one can resist your charm, some drunk nonsense like that, so I bet ya you couldn't convince that random guy to make out with ya."

Remy groaned. Bets were his Achilles' Heal even while sober, and they were downright irresistible while under the influence. "Please tell m' da _homme_ didn't take m' up on de offer."

Logan chuckled. "Nah, he was unimpressed. His girl, on the other hand, seemed to like what she saw. She was pretty wasted herself."

Remy laid his head back down on the counter. "An' den y' dropped me on da floor as soon as y' got me home?"

"I was going to take ya upstairs, but you were singin' some girly song and wouldn't shut up, so I left ya there."

He glared at Logan. "It wasn't girly, it was French."

"How do ya know that if ya can't remember what happened?"

Remy shrugged. "All m' drinkin' songs are French."

"Yeah, well, it sounded pretty girly to me."

Remy groaned and rubbed his head. "Y' a real _bâtard_, y' know dat, Wolvie?"

"Don't be blaming this on me, kid," Logan said, opening Remy's forgotten beer and taking a swig for himself. "Sure, maybe I screwed with ya a bit last night, but all I did was take advantage of what you were already doing to yourself. You've got to learn some self-restraint. Hell, kid, you're nineteen, ya shouldn't even be allowed in the bar." Remy rolled his eyes. It was a little hypocritical to be getting the under-aged drinking lecture from his best drinking companion.

Logan continued. "Clearly I don't care about the age thing, I figure ya lived through enough shit, it ain't like you're Scott or Bobby or any of these other kids. I'm just saying, you're a little young to be letting loose like you've got nothing to live for."

Remy paused before muttering. "I _like _losin' control."

"Yeah, well, one of these days it's going to get ya killed."

Remy rolled his eyes again. This was a lesson he had already learned. He didn't need Logan to point out the dangers of having things fly off the handle, he had the scars on his hands to prove it. But maybe that's why he liked being reckless, being out of control. It was familiar, it was safe. Because when you're best friends with chaos, it's not a shock when things go wrong. It seemed to Remy that, in his life, whenever he felt like he had everything under control was the exact moment that it all went to hell.

Even though his eyes had made it quite clear from the beginning that he was not normal, it still came as quite a shock when his powers had manifested. It had been a painful battle to gain control over his mutation, and the ordeal left him angry. His body had betrayed him. So he fought back. He let loose. He began drinking, smoking, sleeping around, anything that would give him a pleasurable sensation. Being forced to have a part of himself kept so tightly under control, it felt good, almost comforting, to live life recklessly. He reveled in the release.

It was ironic that he would later fall for a girl who was all about control.

Rogue was Remy's completely opposite in this regard. He relished the heady rush of the senses, the euphoria of diving into a sea of physical sensation head first. She blocked off her senses and took comfort in keeping herself completely in check at all times. He liked to think that he was slowly bringing her over to his side, but if he was honest with himself, she was taming him more than he would like to admit. The fact that he'd gone a whole four months living in the mansion with the stripe-haired beauty without being absorbed was a testament to this fact.

It had taken a good word from Logan and a large amount of groveling on his part to get Remy back in Rogue's good graces after the lipstick incident. In the end, she had to give him credit; for a man completely addicted to human touch, he'd been on remarkably good behavior. He was in a relationship with an untouchable girl, and he had been completely faithful. Well, at least while sober. When under the influence, his inner instincts tended to take over, which was why he never went drinking without Logan to keep him in line.

By Saturday night she had forgiven him enough to spend the evening with him. Kitty would be leaving early the next day to spend her Christmas vacation in Chicago, so it was decided that she, Piotr, Rogue, and Remy would watch a movie together in the den.

Being her last night in town, Kitty was awarded the honor of picking out the film, which of course meant they were forced to watch some horrifically formulaic romantic comedy. Remy didn't pay attention to the title, seeing as it really didn't matter which one the tiny brunette had picked out. They were all the same. Guy meets girl, guy and girl fall in love, guy screws up, girls gets pissed, guy and girl make up after coming back together in some absurdly ironic circumstance. He chose instead to focus on the way Rogue was laying next to him in the large recliner.

The chair was not overly spacious, and a normal girl would be snuggled up against him like a second skin. But Rogue, like Remy, was not normal. She lay completely parallel to him in every way, a very controlled half inch of space between them, with two very small exceptions. Her right foot was leaning oh so casually to the side, allowing it to brush against the top of his foot ever so slightly on occasion, a fact that Remy was _very_ aware of. And in perhaps the greatest distraction of the night, she had casually laid her left arm across her body and placed her hand to rest upon his chest. It was that hand that kept Remy's attention away from the movie the entire night.

It was strange; there were many aspects of the female anatomy that he appreciated, but it had never been said that Remy LeBeau was a 'hand man'. In fact, he couldn't imagine anyone was a 'hand man', seeing as there were so many other womanly attributes that would prove to be much more tantalizing. But it was that hand, that oh so perfect little hand, that rested innocently upon the rise and fall of his chest that had him completely captivated. Suddenly, it was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen in his life. Her long, slender fingers encased in soft black satin called to him like a Siren's song. He had never had this desire with any other girl, but in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold that hand.

Something seized hold of his heart, and he felt an almost giddy rush of nervous adrenaline. He was filled with the same boyish anticipation that he'd felt when he first snuck into Belladonna's bed at thirteen. He stared at that perfect hand as he slowly lifted his own from where it lay on his right side. Quiet, like a thief in the night, he brought his hand up, and slipped his fingers between her small covered ones, the breath halting in his chest unconsciously. Time stood still for the two seconds before finally she reacted and melded her fingers more closely into his.

Her body shifted slightly into him, and suddenly his focus was off their hands. He looked up and was caught in the clear green pools of her gaze. She was no longer watching the movie, either. He swallowed hard as, in a mere moment, she moved her body towards him, and that very careful half inch barrier vanished. He felt her body press against him, from the tip of her toes which tickled the top of his foot, to her leg that slowly snaked around his own, to her soft hip which pushed again his own protruding hipbone, to the swell of her breasts which pressed against his chest just above where their hands lay still entwined. The rush of sensation was overwhelming, and he was swimming. From the look in her eyes, she was swimming, too. He felt the familiar swirl of intoxication, like three drinks in, and he began losing the fight to hold back.

Disentangling his fingers from hers, he slowly began trailing his hand up her arm. He shifted into her, bringing their bodies flush against one another. He felt her heart quicken, like his own, as his hand reached her neck and he wove his fingers into her hair. The want in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks, the moisture on her lips became too much, and he surrendered to the call of his own desire. He leapt head first, letting go of all reason and dove into the sea of sensation.

Leaning forward, he caught her full lips in his and kissed her with abandon. Knowing he was on but a scant bit of borrowed time, he dismissed his usual gentlemanly restraint as he plunged his tongue into her mouth, wanting, needing, to feel her, taste her, before it was too late. She had just only began to kiss him back, melding her tongue with his, when he felt the sharp pang as her powers began to pull from him painfully. Before he could react, his world went black and he was gone.

Coming back around was strange and painful, and felt ironically similar to waking up on the entryway floor the previous morning. Remy opened his eyes to find Rogue staring at him, a wild look of panic in her eyes. As he regained his senses and got hold of his bearings, he realized they were still laying on the chair, and that Rogue was back to her original half-inch protected position. He glanced around carefully. The movie was still on, and Kitty and Piotr were still on the couch, completely unaware of what had happened. The situation suddenly struck him as funny. If Kitty had looked over, it would probably appear as if he'd merely fallen asleep, like Piotr, who was currently snoring lightly, propped up by the arm of the couch as Kitty leaned against his large frame.

When he looked back at Rogue, the humor of the situation disappeared. Apparently upon seeing that he was alright, her panic was replaced with displeasure. She got up from the chair and excused herself. As Kitty eyed him questioningly, Remy got up and followed her out of the room. He was in trouble.

She was waiting for him, standing crossly with her arms folded across her chest, a small ways down the hall, just out of hearing range from the den.

"_Chére_…" he started, but she quickly cut him off.

"Remy, what were ya thinkin'? Ya could have gotten hurt!" she hissed.

"_Chére_," he tried again. "'m sorry. I jus' got caught up in da moment. It couldn't be helped." He smiled lightly at her. "Quite frankly, 'm surprised dis didn't happen before now. Y' jus' so beautiful, _ma Chérie_…" He sighed and carefully tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I jus' lost control."

Her look softened, and she looked down, suddenly avoiding his gaze.

"Remy…" she started quietly, almost timidly. He stiffened. "Why didn't ya tell me about what happened?"

"What d' y' mean?"

"Yer 'accident'." She finally looked up at him. "Sinister?"

Remy felt the blood drain from his face. He'd been so caught up in his need, his desire to be close to her, that he hadn't cared what her mutation would do him. He had completely forgotten what it would do to her.

"Remy?" she asked again.

He shifted uncomfortably. "It wasn't a big deal. I didn't want t' burden y' wit' m' problems."

"Not a big deal? Remy-"

He cut her off before she could continue. "I jus' lost control o' my powers, dat's all."

"Lost control?! Remy, it was more than just losin' control. You've never been able to blow up _people_ before!"

"Look," he pulled her in close, putting his hands on her shoulders to calm her down. He didn't want to be talking about this, but he certainly didn't want the rest of the mansion hearing this conversation. He could tell she wouldn't be placated until he gave some explanation to what she had seen from his mind. "Julien challenged m' t' a duel. He didn't want m' marryin' his sister. When I killed 'im… I freaked out, okay? I neva' done dat before… taken a life." He looked down, unable to hold back his shame. "An' dat's when I… lost control. But everyt'ings fine now, I took care of it."

"I know…but, Remy," She caught his chin in her hand and forced him to look at her. "why would ya go ta Sinister? The Professor could've helped ya here. That man, what he does… the things I've heard about him, what I saw from yer mind…" She shuddered before whispering. "He's horrible."

Despite her insistence, he was unable to look her in the eye. "I couldn't come 'ere. I didn't want t' risk hurtin' anyone, hurtin' you. Jean-Luc didn't know who he was when he sent m' dere. A Guild contact knew 'im as Essex, a mutant doctor. He didn't know…" Remy trailed off, not really wanting to rehash that memory. "Doesn' matter. I survived it, an' he _did _fix m' powers. It's ova'."

Deciding that the conversation was finished, he turned and began heading back to the den before Rogue caught his arm.

"Remy, don't ya…" she searched his eyes. "Don't ya wanna talk about it?"

"If I wanted t' talk about it, don't y' t'ink I would've told y' about it myself?"

The words came out harsher than he'd intended. He could tell she was trying to hide it, but he could see it in her face: he'd hurt her. And all because he wanted a stupid kiss. He sighed. Logan was right, at least partially. Maybe he wouldn't get himself killed, but if he didn't learn some self-control, he was going to kill the only thing that mattered to him at the moment.

With most everyone having gone home for Christmas, the follow week was awkward around the mansion. Rogue wasn't mad, not really; she of all people could understand the need for privacy. After all, she had skeletons in her closet as well. But despite her assurances that everything was fine between them, Remy could feel the slight rift in their relationship. He hoped the Christmas present he had bought her weeks before would help heal the damage.

After a simple but savory Christmas breakfast prepared by Ororo and Hank, Remy took Rogue out for a walk in the snow. He imagined presenting her with her gift amidst snow covered pines in the forest at the manor's edge, but the romance of idea died as soon as they made their way outside. Both being Southerners, he soon realized any magic created by the winter wonderland would be overshadowed by the fact that they would be freezing their asses off.

They made it as far as the gazebo before they both decided not to go any further, not wanting to condemn themselves to a long, cold walk back.

Remy was nervous. Sure, he was a ladies' man, and he could charm his way into almost any bed, but this was different. He had very little experience giving gifts that were meaningful, that were sincere. He'd gone out on a bit of a limb with this purchase, and at the time, it had been an exhilarating rush, one of those 'losing control' moments. Now, as the moment of truth arrived, he was beginning to wonder if it had been a mistake.

"Alright, Swamp Rat," Rogue said, smiling up at him as she leaned against the gazebo's railing. "Let's get this over with before we both die of hypothermia."

He laughed. "Way t' set da mood, _Chére_." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, square Tiffany's box and placed it in her hands.

She stared at the box for a moment before looking at him with a smirk. "There doesn't happen ta be a little blue receipt ta go with this, does there?"

He just smiled at her winningly, nodding towards the package. "Open it." He _had_ paid for the item, but it was way more to fun to keep her guessing.

Slowly she pulled the white ribbon and took the lid off the box. Inside was a small, classic watch. Its rectangular face and stainless steel band seemed timeless, classy, and strong, and it had reminded him of Rogue. She gasped slightly as she beheld her gift.

"Remy, it's beautiful." She took the watch out of the box and examined the line of small diamonds that bordered the face. "Remy, are those… are they… real?"

He chuckled. "Well, dey're not a hologram, _Chére_, if dat's what y' askin'."

"Remy-," she began to protest before he cut her off.

"Read de inscription." He couldn't suppress his nervous grin. This was the part he was most anxious about. It had been a whim, an exciting whim at the time, but now he was filled with both a sense of thrill and terror wondering how she would react. He wanted her to read it and just get it over with already.

She turned the watch over and read the inscription on the back of the face.

"'My Girl'." She smiled and looked up at him. "Is that what I am? Yer girl?"

His grin was still fixed in place as he began shaking, mostly from the cold. "Y' not?" Just like his _pére_ taught him: always be evasive.

She continued smiling as she placed the watch on her wrist.

"I guess I am."

He nodded in agreement as he stuffed his hands in his pockets to protected them from the cold. After all, the Lebeau men were not exactly accustomed to expressing their feelings.

After examining the way the watch looked upon her wrist, she looked up at him with a smile.

"It's perfect, Remy. Thank you." Ever so carefully, and with a great deal of effort, Rogue put her arms around him and pulled him into an embrace. The act showed more appreciation than anything she could possibly say. He knew she was trying, really trying, to become truly comfortable with him physically. She buried her head in his chest before whispering, "I love… it."

"'m glad." He pulled away from her to look down with a smirk. "And 'm sure you'll be makin' it up t' me tonight," he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Playfully she pushed him away. "Keep talking like that and I'll rescind the offer."

The 'offer', as it was, was the best Christmas present she could have possibly given him. He'd been begging her for months, and finally, in the spirit of the holiday, she was allowing him one of his greatest desires: she would be spending the night with him. It would be innocent, of course. He wanted only to have her sleeping by his side, although if she were to propose more scintillating activities while occupying his bed, he would be reluctant to decline. However, he seriously doubted that possibility would arise. Be that as it may, he merely wanted the chance to have her close by while he slept.

Contrary to popular belief, Remy was not a 'gone before the sun rises' kind of guy. Sure, he was a 'gone before breakfast' kind of guy, but he made it a habit to spend the night with his sexual conquests. More than anything, he enjoyed the feeling of a warm body next to him as he slept. It was comforting. The fact that he would be snuggled up with Rogue on a cold winter's night such as this was almost euphoric.

She had insisted upon a ridiculous amount of safety precautions, to which he had reluctantly complied. They were both completely clothed from head to toe, including long pants, long sleeves, socks and gloves. It felt odd to Remy to be going to bed so completely covered up, seeing as his usual bedtime ensemble consisted of… well, much less clothing.

As he waited for her in the bed, Rogue continued to stall, shuffling her feet as she stood off to the side.

"_Chére_, come on, y' have t' get in sometime," he called to her, pulling back the covers.

She shifted nervously before fixing him with a pointed glare. "Alright, but remember, no funny business. Ya try anythin' and I'll sic Logan on ya so fast…"

He rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't dream of it. Now please, _ma Chérie_…" He presented her with his best pout. "Don't make m' beg."

Hesitantly, she climbed in and pulled the covers around herself, turning on her side to face away from him. He chuckled to himself; clearly she was trying to make a cocoon to barrier herself from him, and there was no way he was going to let her get away with it. He wormed his way through the covers until he was flush against her back. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to spoon against him, burying his face in the warmth of her hair.

"Remy!" she shrieked, trying to pry herself from his grasp. He was relentless.

"_Chére_…" he soothed. "Jus' calm down. We're completely protected, _d'accord_? Jus' let me hold y'…" After a moments hesitation, she stopped fighting. With a few deep breaths, he felt her relax into his hold and meld her body more fully into his.

"There," he sighed. "Much betta', _non_?"

She paused before answering quietly. "Yeah."

Remy chuckled. He knew she liked it, but she was stubborn as hell. Getting her to admit he was right was about as hard as getting her into his bed.

For his part, Remy was in pure heaven. She was warm, and soft, and she was his. It had been a long time since he'd spent a night like this, and he hadn't realized how much he missed it. He sighed with great contentment as he pulled her in tighter.

"Remy?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"Hmmm?" he murmured, breathing in her sweet scent.

"Ya promise ya're in control?"

"I promise."

He wrapped a leg around her, feeling himself being pulled into sleep already. Her warmth was like a heavy drug, pulling him down and relaxing all his senses. He had told himself that he would stay awake as long as he could, wanting to catalogue the feeling of holding her close for as long as possible. But being here now, safe with her in his embrace, he couldn't hold back and he quickly drifted off to sleep.

"Remy!"

It felt like he had only dozed off for a second before he was awoken suddenly. There were hands on him, and he felt a lingering sense of panic as his heart raced. He tried to push away the hands that grasped at his shirt as he fumbled, still lethargic from sleep, trying to sit up, get away, anything.

"Remy, calm down, it's just me. It's Rogue."

He stopped fighting and let his eyes focus on the scene before him. He was in bed. It was nighttime. He looked to his left and saw Rogue, now sitting up next to him.

"_Chére_?"

"Yeah." She reached out and brushed back the hair from his eyes. "I think ya were havin' a nightmare."

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was well past three am. Apparently he'd been asleep for quite a while.

He laid back down and stared up at the ceiling, trying to calm his breathing. The nightmares had been a nearly nightly occurrence in the past few months. By this point he no longer remembered them, simply waking up covered in sweat, filled with a sense of dread and panic with a slight twinge of déjà vu.

Rogue laid herself back down and curled herself into his side.

"Remy, ya doin' alright?" she asked.

He took a deep breath. "Yeah… _desolé, Chére._ I didn't mean t' wake y'."

She paused before speaking up again. "Remy, do ya wanna-"

He cut her off, knowing where she was headed. "Let's jus' go back t' sleep."

She paused again. "Ok, I know ya don't think ya need ta talk about it, but, see, I've got all these strange memories floatin' around in my head now, and it'd really help me if ya could tell me what happened; help me sort them out."

He sighed. She had a point; he owed her this. After all, his memories were hers now, too.

"Well…" he started, not really sure how much detail he wanted to divulge. "Essex, Sinister, whateva' y' wanna call 'im… he, uh, he had dis table. Like a surgical table, an it had dese… straps, f' y' hands an' feet, t' hold y' down." Remy took a deep breath, not really wanting to go on. "He basically kept m' on dat table f' weeks."

"He had needles." Rogue interjected.

"Yeah…" Remy closed his eyes. "He did a lot o' experiments, seein' how m' powers worked, what m' pain threshold was, how much of a charge I could hold in…"

"And yer eyes?"

"I don't want to talk 'bout dat." he snapped back. He may owe her, but there were some memories that were too hard to discuss.

"Ok." She seemed to understand.

He lay there silently, not wanting to talk about the matter further. He hoped she would get the message.

"And yer nightmares?"

He sighed and took in a shaky breath. "'m just back on dat table, I guess."

She snaked her arm around his torso and held him tight. "Well, ya don't have ta worry about that. Yer never goin' back there."

He felt his throat tighten. "Say dat again," he whispered.

She squeezed him tighter. "Yer never goin' back there."

He wrapped his arms around her. "_Merci, Chére_."

Safe in her embrace, her let himself fall back into a dreamless sleep.

Hours later, he awoke in the bright sunshine of the morning to find her still wrapped in his arms. He looked down and found her staring up at him, her clear green eyes sparkling from the light that filtered in through his blinds. Her hair was messy and her eyes were still heavy with sleep. He smiled. This was definitely a good way to start the morning.

"_Bon Matin, Chére_," he murmured, reaching out a hand to smooth down the hair on top of her head.

"Hey," she responded. She searched his eyes for a moment. "Ya sleep okay, sugah?"

He nodded sleepily in response.

She rolled off of him and sat up, turning to look him the eye. "I just… she started nervously. "I just wanted ta thank ya."

He smiled at her questioningly. "F' what?"

"For sharing all that with me last night," she responded. "And for keepin' yerself in check so we could have the night together without me havin' ta kick yer ass for gettin' grabby."

He laughed.

"And maybe…" she conceded hesitantly, "we could even do it again sometime. If ya're on yer best behavior," she added.

He beamed, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her close. "F' dat, _ma Chérie_," he breathed, "I'd be a saint."

Remy noticed a change that day. It was subtle, but it was still there. Rogue was letting loose, just a little. She touched him a little more. A brush here, a hand on his shoulder, a fleeting touch that lasted just a tad longer than usual. She was letting go of some of her control, and all because he had used some of his own.

"Hey, kid. I'm goin' ta Harry's tonight, if you're interested." Logan called out to him from down the hall that afternoon.

Remy thought about it for a moment before responding. "Yeah, sure."

He could handle it. Hell, he'd spent the entire night in a bed with Rogue and been in complete control. A night on the town would be a piece of cake.

Remy awoke the next day to the painful shrill of the phone ringing somewhere down the hall. He opened his eyes a crack and groaned. When you wake up lying in a heap on the floor in the middle of the entryway with a pounding headache, you know it's going to be a bad day.

* * *

My version of Remy's past presented here is influenced by Seven Sunningdale's "Love of my Life" (the power overload part) and "Cheating at Solitaire" by katjen (the Sinister part). And probably a bunch of others. It's hard to remember where you first heard an idea float around when there are so many stories with similar interrpretations from the comics. But I just wanted to make sure the credit was given.

No NAN this time, it just is what it is.

I want to come up with some sort of clever yet pathetic plea for reviews, but I'm very tired. Like, sooooooooooooo tired. I'm talking 'too tired to go downstairs and eat that chocolate donut that I know is waiting for me but it's 16 whole stairs away and I'd have to walk back up the stairs afterwards as well and that's just too much work' tired. So, you know, maybe you'll all take pity on me and review without me having to beg and grovel at your feet. Please? I promise, I'll grovel next time. I'll even grovel twice as much, to make up for it. Does that sound fair? I'll take your review as a 'yes'.


	6. la tempête

**Disclaimer: Can anyone really _own_ an idea? Can you truly possess something that doesn't, in reality, actually exist? Yeah, take that, Marvel. I just opened up a big ol' can of existentialism on you. WHAT?!**

Have I made mention of how awesome my reviewers are? So, I met my goal of at least 75 reviews by last chapter, because I wanted an average of at least 15 per chappy. So, now I'm thinking maybe we'll shoot for an average of, say, 20 per. That means I need to get *does some fancy calculating* .... 41 reviews for this chapter. Yeeeeeeeeeeah. I think Remy will actually get a dog before **that** happens. But you guys rock the kazbah for getting me **past** my previous goal. Everybody now: Woot Woot!

**Reviewer Quote of the Week:**

From a new reviewer, **Masterperson**: _"Ok, I know ya don't think ya need ta talk about it, but, see, I've got all these strange memories floatin' around in my head now, and it'd really help me if ya could tell me what happened; help me sort them out."...Subtle Rogue, real smooth like. I'm sure it's all about you and you are in no way tricking Gambit into talking about his problems... _I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. *Wink Wink, Nudge Nudge*

So, I've been really trying hard to put in at least one 'talking in third person' Remy moment in each chapter, but like the first chapter, it just didn't make it in here. It's such a weird characteristic for me to write, but I think when done properly it can be kind of an adorably odd affectation. There's this little three-year-old boy in my neighborhood who does it, and it's hilarious. "Jason's mom said he can come over and play. Jason likes this game. Jason's going home now." It just kills me everytime...

* * *

Just so everyone is clear, the whole dog thing last chapter, that was a joke. Remy didn't get a dog. There is no dog. Dogs do not exist here. Ok, I guess there are dogs _somewhere_ in the realm of this story. It's not like I'm creating a completely canine-free universe for Remy to live in. I just don't want any poor readers sitting around wondering "But where's the dog? Did he feed the dog today? And where does it sleep? Has he taken it for a walk?"...

* * *

**Chapter Six: **_**la tempête**_

When he was a small child living on the streets in Louisiana, hurricane season had always been a tumultuous time for Remy. Being a street child was a dangerous life on its own, but with each storm he would find himself in a state of panic, fighting to find shelter as the rain and wind would beat down upon his small body, never knowing how long he would have to struggle to survive while riding out the storm.

But for the two or three days before a hurricane would hit, the skies would always be clear. These times were cherished memories for Remy. He would sit for hours, enjoying the tranquility of mild weather, knowing in the back of his mind that he should be preparing for the worst, but unable to forgo the fleeting moment of peace. Even after he was taken in by the LeBeaus, he found himself seduced by the wanton call of these deceptively placid days. He couldn't help but bask in the twisted comfort of false serenity, the eerie silence that was warning of things to come.

The calm before the storm.

By January, Remy was beginning to consider quitting smoking. Winter in New York was unbearably cold to his warm southern blood, and being forced to brave the freezing temperatures several times a day to go out for a smoke was quickly becoming irksome. During his first stint living up north he'd never had this problem; Magneto cared very little about what any of his Acolyte's did, the least of which was smoking indoors. Professor Xavier, on the other hand, felt very strongly on the issue of secondhand smoke. The fact that even the Wolverine took his cigars outside without dispute proved that it was not an issue to push the telepath on.

Perched on the edge of the back porch one evening, Remy eyed his dying cigarette wearily. He'd been smoking the things since he and his cousin took up the habit at fourteen in an act of teenage rebellion. Emil hadn't had the stamina to keep it up, not with the threat of Guild-approved punishment if they were caught, but Remy had taken to the nicotine sticks like they were candy. Sighing, he tossed away the smoldering stump with a flick of his wrist. Maybe he was getting a little old for pointless defiance. Besides, he considered as he pulled up the collar of his coat to ward off the growing chill, Rogue didn't like them.

"_Go to sleep little baby"_

A soft, clear voice filtered outside to where he sat, and his senses awoke the instant he heard the song.

"_Go to sleep little baby"_

He turned around and looked in the window to find Rogue, standing at the kitchen sink as she continued to sing softly to herself.

"_Your momma's gone away and your daddy's gonna stay_

_Didn't leave nobody but the baby"_

He stood and watched her. She was alone in the kitchen, washing the dishes in the sink as she sang, as it was her turn that night. He knew that while she would grumble every time her name came up, secretly she relished the opportunity to do the chore that required her hands to be bare.

"_Go to sleep little baby"_

He wondered in awe that she would pick that song to sing.

"_Go to sleep little baby"_

It wasn't an uncommon song, especially to anyone who had grown up in the South, as they both had, but still…

"_Everybody's gone in the cotton and the corn_

_Didn't leave nobody but the baby"_

Everyone, at some point in their lives, has had a father and a mother, and Remy knew he was no exception to this. He held no grand illusions that he was the product of an immaculate conception. But be this as it may, he couldn't remember his infancy, and had never known his parents. His earliest memories were of already being on the streets. Of being alone.

"_You're a sweet little baby"_

But he knew he couldn't have always been that way.

"_You're a sweet little baby"_

At some point, he must have had a mother. And in the deepest part of his heart, he held a small hope that somewhere inside he had a memory of that.

"_Honey in the rock and the sugar don't stop_

_Gonna bring a bottle to the baby"_

There had been a day when he was young, wandering the city, that he'd first heard the song. A mother was singing it to her child as they passed him on the streets.

"_Don't you weep pretty baby"_

As the mother had sung it, Remy couldn't help but think that the song felt… familiar.

"_Don't you weep pretty baby"_

He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd heard it before; that it had once been his.

"_She's long gone with her red shoes on_

_Gonna need another loving baby"_

He had decided from that day on that it _had _been. He may not have a memory, but he had that feeling. Someone, somewhere, had sung that song to him. It was something that he could hold onto, even if very small. It was _his_ song.

"_Go to sleep little baby"_

And Rogue was singing it now.

"_Go to sleep little baby"_

As he watched her from outside, it occurred to him that she had never before appeared so beautiful. Something in his chest expanded and he was filled with the irrepressible urge to go to her.

"_You and me and the devil makes three_

_Don't need no other lovin' baby"_

Silently, as only he could, he opened the backdoor and slipped into the kitchen. He didn't want to disturb her peaceful moment, but he couldn't help himself. Quietly, he stepped closer to her as she continued to sing.

"_Go to sleep little baby"_

He made his way behind her, that unknown something in his chest still growing.

"_Go to sleep little baby"_

Unable to hold himself back, he slipped his arms around her shoulders from behind, wrapping them around her and holding her close. Initially, she stiffened in shock, but then, to his surprise and delight, she relaxed and leaned back into his hold, quietly finishing her song.

"_Come lay bones on the alabaster stones_

_And be my ever-lovin' baby"_

He sighed with great contentment as he held her. He buried his face in her hair as a feeling of peace and tranquility swept over him and that _something_ continued to expand until he felt like his chest might burst. Suddenly, the words poured out of him before the thought could fully form in his mind.

"_Je t'aime."_

His entire world seemed to freeze in shock. That expansion in his chest that had made him feel light-headed and almost giddy was replaced with the tight squeeze of dread. He couldn't believe he had just said that.

He couldn't believe he had _meant _it.

Rogue, for her part, remained still in his arms. Her uncovered hands lingered still submerged in the soapy water in the kitchen sink. After a moment, she spoke up slowly.

"I love you, too."

Though quiet, her voice held none of the panic and apprehension that he now felt himself. She sounded confident, reassuring, and that scared him even more. Suddenly, the kitchen felt very, very small, and completely devoid of oxygen. He had to get out.

"'m gonna go t' bed," he sputtered out after a horrifically long pause, still frozen with her in his arms. The clock to his right read 8:13. It was a stupid excuse, but he didn't care. It was all he could conjure up with his mind spinning out of control.

"Okay."

Rogue spoke softly and made no sudden movements, much like one would when trying to coax a nervous squirrel to come over and take a nut from their outstretched hand. Remy had a feeling he was the squirrel in this scenario.

Carefully, he disentangled himself from her and left the room at a painstakingly slow pace. There was no way he was going to flee from her, like he was some sort of frightened child and she was the Boogeyman, but in all honesty, that was exactly what he wanted to do. It felt to him like hours had passed by the time he reached his room and shut the door securely behind him. He flopped himself down unceremoniously upon his bed and began to breathe again.

'_What the hell have I gotten myself into?'_

He reached into the drawer in his nightstand and pulled out a deck. Sitting up, he shuffled the cards lazily between his fingers before dealing himself a game of solitaire on the bed in front of him. He tried in vain to focus only on the cards as his mind reeled.

He turned a card over. The three of spades. He moved it to the back of the deck.

The still somewhat rational part of his brain told him that this really shouldn't be such a big deal. If one were to look at the simple facts alone, it might almost seem like a good thing. He loved her. She loved him. People made it work all the time. Jean and Scott's sickening display of affection at the dinner table earlier had been evidence to that fact.

But Rogue wasn't Jean, and he sure as hell wasn't Scott.

'_What the __**hell**__ have I gotten myself into?'_

He turned over the nine of diamonds and placed it on top of the ten of clubs.

No, he most definitely was _not_ Scott. And that, of course, was the problem. As much as he may want to be, for himself, for Rogue, he just wasn't that guy. That guy that got the girl, who wooed her and swept her off her feet. The guy who was everything the look in her eyes said he was. The guy who dropped down on one knee and made her the happiest girl in the world. Who bought her the nice house with the white picket fence and made all her dreams come true. The guy who was happy. That wasn't Remy, as much as he may want it to be, and trying to be something he wasn't had always gotten him into trouble.

But that was exactly what he was doing, once again. And now it was just a matter of time before it all blew up in his face.

Remy cursed as he drew the Jack of Spades.

He had no business being with Rogue in the first place. He was nothing that she thought he was. He was not the hero she saw in him. He wasn't an X-man, that was for sure. He was nothing, and the way that she looked at him said that she thought he was everything. She had no idea. He could never be the love of _anyone's_ life, much less someone as precious as her.

And she _was_ precious. It made his heart ache just to think about her. She was beautiful, and she was good. She'd been through the ringer and came out stronger, more virtuous, whereas he'd been beaten by life and let it take him down a notch. But not her. She was the Rogue. And he was completely unworthy.

His thoughts turned bitter as he placed the two of hearts upon its ace. He was always doing this, trying to be something, someone, he couldn't possible be. Trying to steal himself a life that he couldn't possibly obtain.

He had tried to be a good son, and clearly that hadn't worked out. He had tried to be the heir to the throne, the Prince of Thieves. He tried to be an Acolyte, a strong servant to his master's goal. And now he was trying to be a hero, a good guy. And, even more laughable, a love.

But he was none of those things. He wasn't the man Rogue thought he was. If she saw him for what he really was, she surely wouldn't love him. He wasn't an X-man. He wasn't a Prince, and he wasn't even a LeBeau. He was Remy, the piece of street trash that had wandered in when someone left the door open. He could try to fool himself as much as he wanted, but his history had proven that the hoax would eventually fall apart at the seams.

And now he'd gone and fallen in love. He knew now that when his current attempt at a new life came crashing down, which it most assuredly would, it was going to hurt like hell.

He spent the rest of the night dealing himself game after game of solitaire. It occurred to him that, if he was smart, this was how he ought to live his life. As much as he loved a good game of poker, solitaire really was the way to go. In poker, you can sit down at the table having all the riches you could imagine at your disposal, and leave with nothing. That was the gamble. But in solitaire, it didn't matter how many hands you won and how many busted; in the end, it was just you and a pack of cards, just like when you started.

The next day was miserable. He'd gotten very little sleep the night before, tossing and turning with thoughts that he couldn't turn off and a perpetual sense of dread that he couldn't suppress. He had once heard the term 'things look better in the morning', but it didn't ring true. All his fears and doubts had only escalated with the rise of the morning sun. Remy Lebeau was in hell.

He felt like he was sitting on a ticking time bomb. He realized now what he should have grasped before he even came to the Mansion; that it was just a matter of time before this good life he was living came to a crashing halt. Sooner or later Rogue was going to see him for what he really was, a no-good riffraff worth about as much as a piece of sidewalk gunk stuck to the bottom of her shoe, and she'd be left with two options. One, kick the sorry loser to the curb, or two, let him stick around out of a sense of guilt or duty, and end up resenting every moment she was forced to spend with him. Remy didn't relish the thought of being on the opposing end of either scenario.

He spent the entire day avoiding Rogue. He was sure it had to be obvious. Hell, he'd told her he loved her the night before only to conveniently miss all group meals without warning the next day. He didn't care. At this point looking like a pathetic bastard was the least of his problems. His biggest concern at the moment was whether or not he was going to make use of the duffel bag that lay with great importance on top of his bed.

It should have been an easy decision; Remy had always been a runner. But this time, something was holding him back. On the one hand, his heart had been racing all day with uneasy panic. He felt like he was living with a gun to his head that could go off any minute, and his fight or flight instincts were kicking in. He needed to get out, and fast, before he got hurt. On the other hand, there was something there that he didn't want to miss out on. Yes, it was destined to end in a great deal of pain, but part of him didn't want to deny himself the illusion of happiness that he currently had, no matter how much longer it lasted.

In the end, he settled somewhere in the middle. The reality was, no matter what he ultimately decided, at the moment he simply **had** to get out, even if for a little while. He felt like he was going to explode from the apprehension as he waited for the other shoe to drop. But as hard as he tried, he simply didn't have it in him to cut ties completely. Not yet. He would leave, but he didn't pack the bag. He would leave all his belongings at the mansion, allowing himself the option of coming back. But if in the end he didn't, there was nothing there that he couldn't live without.

'_Except her.'_

He waited until nighttime to slink off to the garage, hoping to slip out under the cover of darkness. As he mounted his bike, his coat pulled tight around him, he hung his head and sighed with regret. She was going to hate him for this. But, then again, better for her to just start hating him now and get it over with.

Just as he was about to gun the engine, a figure stepped in front of his motorcycle.

"Where ya goin', Remy?"

He looked up to find the last person on earth he wanted to run into. Of course Rogue would catch him. Nothing in his life was easy.

His heart raced as he tried to figure out what to say to her. This wasn't how he worked. He didn't do heartfelt goodbyes or honest explanations. He fled.

"_Chére_…" He sighed and dropped his gaze. "I gotta go."

She crossed her arms in front of her, not moving from his path. "Ya gotta go where?"

He shook his head ruefully. She _really _wasn't going to make this easy.

"I jus'… I jus' gotta go." He looked up at her painfully. "_Chére_… please."

She remained motionless. "No. If ya gonna run off in the middle of the night, I think I deserve an explanation. Ya owe me that much."

He studied her face. She was angry. She didn't need an explanation, it was clear from her demeanor that she knew exactly what the hell he was doing. And every second she kept him here he felt his heartrate increase exponentially. His hands were shaking. He _needed _to leave.

"I don' know what t' tell y'. I jus' gotta go. Now."

She held her ground. "No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes!"

"No!"

He sighed, realizing that the argument had reached kindergarten levels, and they were going nowhere fast.

She widened her stance and planted her feet firmly on the ground. "If ya really think ya need ta leave, ya're gonna have ta run me over ta do it."

Remy considered the possibilities for a moment. _'She's a strong girl. If I just hit the throttle a little bit, I could probably nudge her outta the-'_

"YA'RE ACTUALLY THINKIN' ABOUT IT?!" she screamed. She stomped over to his side and grabbed the front of his coat. "That's it, get off the damn bike, I'm kickin' yer ass!"

He wrenched himself from her grasp. "I wasn't gonna run y' ova, jus' a bump, _Chére_!"

She stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief. "Ya wanna run away so bad, ya're willin' ta hurt me in the process?"

"YES!" The word burst out before he had the sense of mind to hold it in.

She searched his eyes pleadingly.

"Do ya love me?" she asked.

He sighed. "Yes."

"So ya didn't lie ta me?"

"No!"

She paused. "But ya still wanna run?"

He paused as well. "Yes."

She thought for a moment before responding.

"Okay." His heart leapt for joy, but his relief was short lived. "But not like this." She stepped closer to him. "Not running off in the middle of the night. Ya're scared, ya need some space, I get it. But leave in the mornin'. Pack a bag. Make a plan. Tell me goodbye. Let me know when ya plan on comin' home."

He knew it was a fair request, but he couldn't do it. It had taken all his resolve to walk out that door the first time, and he simply couldn't go back in. Not in there, where every second would remind him of the nightmare that was sure to come sometime down the road.

"I can't."

Her face hardened. "Remy, ya leave now, and that's it."

His heart wrenched as she spoke those words. As much as he needed to run, he didn't want to end things with her. Not like this. Not ever.

"_Chére_, please…"

"No." He knew that look, that determined set to her features. "I'm not gonna be that girl, Remy. Ya can't just run off and waltz back in whenever ya feel like it, and have me sittin' around on pins and needles for ya. I won't be that pathetic. Ya wanna go, fine. But if ya want ta have me waitin' for ya when ya come back, ya do it right. Ya leave now, it means we're done."

Yes, but what would it mean if he stayed?

He dropped his gaze, unable to look her in the eye. "'m sorry, _Chére_."

She stepped back. She was letting him go. "I'm sorry, too."

He didn't look up to see if she was crying. He had a feeling she wouldn't be. She was angry, and she was stubborn, and he was a damn fool. But he had no choice. This wasn't his life to live, anyway. She wasn't really his. She couldn't be. And he had to leave now before she hurt him far worse than he was hurting himself.

As he sped off, leaving the Mansion's gate's behind him, he heard the low rumble of thunder in the distance.

The storm was rolling in.

* * *

_"Everything will be alright in the end. If its not, then it's not the end". _

I have a confession. I'm a crappy reviewer. I read a lot of stories, and some of them are complete crap, but a lot of them are awesome and truly deserve my review. But do I do it? No. I lie to myself and say that it's too much pressure to review _everything_. I mean, what if I'm having a good day and I write a really creative and fun review for one story, then suddenly I have to be that clever for _all_ the reviews I write, and then I'll have to be 'on' all the time... the truth is, I'm just lazy. Really great reviews are the best, but even the little ones are greatly appreciated. I know that. I should just bite the bullet and drop a line, no matter the size. It's the least I can do to repay the writer for their hard work. Do you have this problem as well? Well, I say, let's grow together! I've been meaning to review Star-of-Chaos's 'Bubblicious' forever, it was an awesome little one-shot that totally deserves some praise, and RandiRogue's 'Fallacies of Solemnity' has me completely confused and utterly intrigued. How about this: I'll go review those two, and you guys can start your road to review-neglect recovery, oh, let's see... how about right here?! How conventient, there's a little button right there that can get you started. How easy is that! Let's be strong together, and with a little help from each other, we'll all be better reviewers from this day forward. SOLIDARITY!


	7. la lutte

**Disclaimer: Do I even own _anything_? I think I blew my own mind with that whole existentialist bit last chapter. I probably don't even own this story...**

So, to start off: I am so, so, so, so, SO sorry that this update is coming so late. I had actually planned to have it come early, seeing as I left the last chapter on a bit of a bummer note. But stupid _life_ got in the way, and an UNbelievably unexpectedly busy schedule prevented me from getting this chapter out of my head and onto the computer until now. I know I don't technically _owe_ anyone anything, but all you readers are so amazing, I feel like I **do** owe you something, because you've certainly given me something in return. I appreciate all your words, kind, not, and the oh-so humorous ones inbetween. Big mushy group hug!! (Ok, random note: I'm NOT a big hugger, I find the whole thing completely unnatural, but this week I've awkwardly hugged and been hugged more times than I think I have in the past ten years. Yeah, it's been an odd week). I know I haven't done review responses for everyone yet, but I promise, to those I've yet to get to, I will. When _I_ review, I know it's always nice to get a response. I just wanted to get this chapter up as soon as possible. So those still waiting, hang in there. You've not gone unnoticed, I promise!!

**Reviewer Quotes of the Week!** This was super tough this time, because there were SOOOOOOO many great ones, you guys all light up my tiny little life. Anyway, thses were the ones that I picked, but just know so many more are deserving as well:

_That something in your chest may be lung cancer Remy. _This one from **cartoonfire** made me do an actual spit-take.

_Hey, crazy thought here, have you ever thought that being a supposed failure at being a villain (thief and henchmen for hire)means you'll be a great hero. I mean, at the very least, you'd be more of an X-men than Evan. _Ok, **Masterperson**, you made the list again. I'm not sure why, but that Evan crack just hits my funny bone every freakin' time...

This chapter is inspired/dedicated to** V. Arsonist**. First off, I reread your review(s) the next day, and, wow, did I overreact or what? So, super sorry for that. Like I said, it was a bad, bad night. But, in my oversensitivity, great things emerged. It caused me to give this chapter some serious thought, and I ended up making some very minor changes that made a big impact on the chapter and added a whole lot more heart. In the end, it turned this chapter into what could have been sort of a throwaway, transitional piece into something I'm actually quite proud of. So, thank you.

Alright, what do we say we get this show on the road? Oh, and **starlight2twilight**, the dog is really really small, and Remy has it in his pocket the entire time. Enjoy:

* * *

**Chapter Seven: **_**la lutte**_

It took less than 24 hours for Remy to realize that he'd made a very big mistake. Less than 24 hours, and he knew that nothing Rogue could possibly do to him would hurt more than what he had already done to himself. Nothing could hurt worse than walking away. Because this time, he wasn't just leaving. He was leaving something behind.

Hell, 24 hours was stretching it. In reality, the realization had settled like a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach by the time he'd reached the city.

The best part about New York City, in Remy's opinion, was that there was always somewhere to get a drink. The second best part about the city was that there was always someone with whom to get laid. The worst part about New York was that neither one of those facts did anything to erase from his mind the nagging comprehension that he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life.

The second he'd turned off his motorcycle's engine, he'd set out to get good and wasted, and when the alcohol did nothing to numb the growing ache that her absence was creating, he turned to the first set of long legs that made their way to his side. If anything could chase away the memory of the silly little, barely 18-year-old, untouchable virgin that he'd left standing outside in the cold not but four hours before, it would be the tantalizing touch of a wanton woman.

Ah, yes, a woman.

Warm, soft, all flesh and sensation. He let his hand trail across her thigh, up and under her skirt much higher than publicly decent. He kissed her hard, fast, a whirlwind of passion that was much too hard, too fast, for his usual taste. But if he were to slow down, let his hands sensuously linger upon her skin, leaving behind a smoldering trail of desire, he would be reminded. Reminded of that 18-year-old girl and the way his hand had made its way oh so slowly up her arm to tangle in her silken tresses, pulling her close…

Woman.

What he had here, writhing on his lap in distasteful desperation, shoving her tongue so far down his throat he thought he might choke, was no woman. And Rogue, despite her youth, was no girl.

He sighed and pushed away the pathetic creature that clawed at him like a black crow scratching at the hard, frozen earth, searching for food. Clearly, if he wanted to, he could get lucky here. And hell, maybe it wouldn't make him feel better, but at least it would feel _good._ In the end, his reluctance provided more revelation than anything else; Rogue wouldn't like it. The fact that this would influence his actions proved that deep down, he was planning on going back.

Of course, some things are easier said than done.

Although a part of him screamed inside that he should turn on his heel that instant and head back home before the damage got worse, another part, the part that had wanted to run in the first place, was too afraid to face what would be waiting for him if he were to return. And so, feeling in complete limbo, Remy fell back on a tried and true recourse that never failed to indulge the self-loathing, masochistic side of him that cried out for attention.

He went on a bender.

The next two days went by in a blur of bar lights, empty glasses, and dirty sidewalks, and that's exactly how Remy wanted it. It wasn't until he looked up from where his head lay on the sticky counter of whatever tavern he had last stumbled into to stare into those cold brown eyes that he began to sober up.

"Let's go," Logan grunted.

He merely nodded in response and peeled himself off the bar before staggering behind the feral man as he walked out the door.

Both men remained silent as they boarded Logan's jeep. Remy wondered briefly if he might ever see his bike again. He had forgotten about it at least five bars back, and as far as he knew, its location could be anywhere in the city. '_Damn._' It was a nice bike, and he'd actually gotten sort of attached to this one.

They spent the first twenty minutes of the ride back in uncomfortable silence. Remy could feel the effects of the liquor slowly leaving his body, almost as if Logan's mere presence acted like a pot of black coffee. Finally, feeling he was nearly sober enough to put two words together, Remy spoke up.

"So," he slurred, staring out at the road ahead of them, "'ow mad 's she?"

Logan kept his eyes on the road in a hard gaze. "Don't matter."

"_Que?_" Remy was confused. If anyone would be concerned about Rogue's state of mind, it would be Logan.

"It don't matter how mad she is," Logan stated, continuing to look straight ahead, "because you ain't comin' near her." Finally, he turned to Remy and fixed him with a glare that could melt statues. "Got it, bub?"

Remy groaned and leaned back into his seat. He was still drunk as hell, and he was tired, dirty, and sore from passing out on the sidewalk one too many times. He was not in the mood for lectures or empty threats.

"Or what, y' gonna turn me int' shish kabobs or some ot'er lameass excuse f' a t'reat? Y' all talk, Logey, an' it ain't like y' neva' screwed up b'fore-"

Logan's claws popped out as if of their own accord, scraping the windshield as he continued to grip the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were turning white. Remy shut up immediately.

"You don't wanna know what I'm gonna do. You got your chance, and you screwed up. Now you're gonna stay the hell away from her." He sheathed his claws once again.

Remy looked over at the man sitting next to him. This was not his drinking buddy, Logan. No, this was Wolverine, the over-protective father-figure with a look that could kill and adamantium-laced claws that could do it faster. Remy sighed and returned to staring at the road ahead, beginning to brood with melancholy thoughts about just what kind of mess he'd made of his life this time.

"Why da hell y' bringin' me back, den?" he muttered, not really sure if he had actually voiced the thought out loud.

There was a long pause before Logan finally answered.

"Because," he sighed, glancing briefly at the young man beside him before returning his eyes to the road, "whether ya know it yet or not, Xavier's is where ya belong."

Remy slumped over to the side and let his head rest against the cool glass of the window.

"Don't t'ink I belong anywhere, _homme,_" he mumbled.

"Trust me, kid. It took me long enough to figure it out, but **everyone **belongs _somewhere_."

Remy closed his eyes and let the chill from the glass penetrate through his skin and wash over him.

Logan sniffed and wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Damn, Cajun, how much did you drink? You've got booze comin' outta your bones…"

They remained silent for the rest of the ride back, with Logan focusing on the road and Remy contemplating just what the hell he planned to do now, and whether any of it was really worth it. Before he knew it, they had arrived back at the mansion and parked in the garage, and a deep sense of dread fell upon him. He remained motionless in his seat as Logan exited the vehicle. The shorter man stopped when he reached the door to go inside, turning back to the young man still sitting in the jeep.

"I didn't track ya all mornin' so you could sit around in the garage all day. Time to face the music."

Remy slinked out of the car and hobbled over to follow behind Logan as he entered the mansion, noticing that, if nothing else, the ride back had at least made him a little more sure on his feet.

As he trailed behind Logan through the halls towards the main staircase, Remy wondered if this was what it felt like to walk the green mile. '_Dead man walking,_' he thought with morbid humor. As they passed the rec room, he stopped dead in his tracks.

There she was.

It appeared that most of the students were enjoying their Saturday there, playing pool or lounging on the various sofas, watching television. Rogue, who was sitting on one of the loveseats engaged in conversation with Kitty, looked up and caught his gaze with her sparkling green eyes. For a moment, a wave of relief spread across her features.

'_She still cares.'_

Kitty turned to see what had caught her friend's attention and immediately frowned upon seeing the Cajun's face.

"Like, what the _hell_ are **you **doing back?"

He paid her no attention, barely noticing the way the entire room had gone silent, as he continued to hold Rogue's gaze. His momentary elation died suddenly when, as quickly as it came, the look of relief left her face and was replaced with a hard, determined demeanor. She got up without a word and stalked past him out of the room.

"_Chére_…" called after her feebly as she stormed off in the opposite direction. He made a slight move to follow her before Logan grabbed him roughly by the collar and dragged him onward.

"I believe I told ya to leave her alone…" he snarled in his ear as he hauled him up the stairs and towards his room. Once there, Logan shoved him into the room forcefully. "Now, you can sleep it off, take a shower, or sit in here and play your damn cards 'till the sun comes up tomorrow for all I care, but I don't want to see your face until you're good and sober, got it? Then ya come find me. You missed a Danger Room session, and believe me, you're gonna want to be runnin' at 100% when you see what I got lined up for you." With that, Logan slammed the door shut, and Remy could hear his vehement gait as he retreated back down the hall.

Remy stood awkwardly as he looked around this room. It was exactly as he had left it. There was no reason for it not to be, he had only been gone… Remy looked at a clock, realizing that he actually had no idea what time it was. The time read 1:48. He had been gone for less than 72 hours, but it felt like an eternity, because in that time he'd lost the one thing that really mattered to him. It seemed odd that the world around him didn't seem to reflect that.

Out of Logan's suggestions, Remy decided on sleep, not really wanting to sit around dwelling on what his life would be like now that Rogue was no longer in it. Besides, the only rest he'd gotten while he was gone was when he passed out in a drunken stupor, and that could hardly be counted as sleep. He stripped off his clothes and let them fall to the floor, dirty and reeking of that distinct scent that only a seedy tavern can produce. He crawled under the covers and closed his eyes, letting himself be taken under by the intoxication that he'd been fighting off since Logan first showed up. Slowly, he felt himself being pulled under into a lull like a giant wave sweeping over him. As he drifted off, he thought absentmindedly that it actually sounded quite good, to stop fighting against the tide and simple allow himself to be slowly carried off to sea…

When he awoke, his head throbbed, but the alcohol was definitely out of his system. In its absence, he was painfully aware of his surroundings, and the quiet and sheer _emptiness_ of his room seemed to hum like static electricity dancing in the air around him. He glanced at the clock beside his bed, somewhat shocked to discover he'd slept until almost 8 o'clock the next morning. It scared him a bit to think how drunk he must have been, but on the other hand, the more hours he spent asleep, the less time he had to live in the pathetic mess he'd once again doomed himself to. _'18 hours down,' _he mused dryly, _'525,582 to go…'_

He toyed with the idea of avoiding Logan; the man had yet to skewer the young Cajun, but his threats regarding the Danger Room were never idle. In the end, Remy decided it was best to face his fate head on. After all, it was going to come around sooner or later, he might was well get it over with. He dragged himself down to the kitchen, where he found Logan drinking his Irish coffee and reading the sports page. He looked up from his paper upon the young man's entrance, and a sadistic smile crept across his face. Remy suddenly regretted the decision not to procrastinate his demise.

Three hours and what would most likely turn out to be several bruised ribs later, Remy made a personal vow never to cross the Wolverine ever, ever again.

As he left the Danger Room, wholly intent on stealing some supplies from the girl's bathroom and spending the next four hours soaking in a bubble bath until he could feel his limbs once again, he was stopped by a hand on his arm. He turned to find Storm, surprisingly casual, dressed in a t-shirt and an old worn-out pair of jeans.

"Come help me with my gardening," was all she said as she pulled him towards the elevators. He contemplated saying no, but in reality, she hadn't actually _asked _for his help. In the end, he was too tired to protest as she led him wordlessly through the mansion and out to her enclosed greenhouse.

Once they entered and shut the door behind them, he slumped against the wall as he let his eyes close for a moment in exhaustion. The heat inside the greenhouse actually relaxed his aching muscles, and he thought for a moment that he might just stay there for the rest of the day, until Storm tossed a pair of gardening gloves to him. His eyes popped open and he caught the gloves as they bounced off his chest. Storm was crouched next to six large plants in a corner of the building. Silently, he slowly made his way over to her side.

"I'd like to get these tomato plants in the ground," she stated. She tilted her head to the side, indicating the hand trowels that hung on the wall beside her. "If you'd begin digging the holes…"

He nodded feebly and picked up a tool, painfully lowering himself to the ground as he began plowing at the earth. Storm fussed about her plants as she began to speak.

"You know, Remy, I've made mistakes in my life…"

He sighed, rolling his eyes. So _that _was what this was about. Sitting in the dirt, with every muscle in his body screaming out in agony, he was in no mood for a heart-to-heart.

"_Désolé_, Stormy," he interrupted, "_mais_ I'm not really in da mood t' talk about m' problems."

She looked up from her plant with a slight look of confusion. "I don't recall asking you to. In fact, I believe _I _was the one talking about myself."

He rolled his eyes again, commencing his digging once more. "Right, right… well, proceed."

She turned her attention back to her plant. "As I was saying, I've made mistakes in my life. And I've learned in that life that most mistakes can be rectified. No one is perfect."

Remy's back ached as he leaned forward, his first hole reaching the right size. "Dat's a whole lot easier said den done, Stormy."

She brought over the first plant and placed it carefully in the hole he had made. "Yes, that is true. But some things are worth fighting for." She began filling in the space around the plant as Remy set about digging the next hole. "I often sit back and contemplate my life, and I am continually amazed that I chose to be an X-man, a fighter.

"Because of my mutation, I must constantly be in control of my emotions, or the weather around me will reflect what I cannot contain within myself. You, of course, have seen the effects of this, that time that Bobby crushed my rose bushes." Remy smiled at the memory as they lowered the second tomato plant into its hole. "To be a soldier in such a monumental conflict seems like an unnatural choice for someone in my situation. When Xavier told me about his life's mission, however, I knew it was a cause I had to join. When I was young, I was enslaved by a man who wanted to use my powers for his own will. I could not live with myself if I knew that I could have done something to keep another mutant from being harmed because they are different and had chosen not to help. This fight, the struggle for peace between humans and mutants, it's too important. And when it's important, it's worth fighting for."

Remy stared at the dirt on his hands. "But what if y' get hurt?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, there is always the risk of injury. That is the nature of life, is it not? But if your heart is invested in the outcome of the battle, it will hurt far worse to be sitting on the sidelines. I've heard the saying, 'It is better to have fought and died for something than to have lived for nothing'."

He sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. "I don't even t'ink she'll take m' back…"

"Who?" Storm asked suddenly.

He stared at her in confusion. "Rogue."

Storm smiled serenely. "Oh, I'm sorry." Her eyes sparkled with just a hint of mischief. "I thought we were talking about _me_."

He chuckled softly, rolling his eyes and turning his attention to his trowel once again. Storm reached out placed her hand on his arm.

"Remy," she began, piercing him with her steel blue eyes, "I know it's scary to let yourself be vulnerable, especially when you've been hurt too many times already. But you can't keep running away for the rest of your life. Nothing that is worth anything comes easily, but eventually you'll find something that matters enough to you to be worth the effort. And yes, you might get hurt again, but you might not. Life is a gamble, and you of all people should know that some gambles pay off. If it's important, if _she's_ important, she's worth fighting for."

Remy let Storm's words sink into him as he continued digging at the earth.

When the work outside was done, he staggered back to his room and straight into the bathroom. Too tired to make the effort, he decided to forgo the bubbles, filling the bath and lowering himself into the almost painfully hot water.

As his body began to relax, his mind wandered. Storm's words circles around his thoughts until he couldn't keep them out. Was this thing he'd had with Rogue, was it something that was worth fighting for?

He had always considered himself a fighter. He pushed boundaries left and right, almost as if he had a physical need to rail against authority. Some of his biggest rows with Jean-Luc had been over the stupidest things; he remembered one particular shouting match that had resulted in three broken plates and a severe beating beginning over his refusal to take the garbage out. But, looking back, it seemed that when it came to the things that really mattered, he did nothing, as Storm had pointed out, but simply run away. When he learned of the Prophesy, he ran. When the Guild had him exiled, he left without argument. And when things got serious with Rogue, he ran then, too. Hell, he hadn't even waited for things to go south on that one, he had his running shoes on before the shit could come anywhere near the fan.

He groaned as he sunk lower into the bath. He was a stupid coward, and nothing more.

He sat in the bath, stewing in his thoughts until the water started to turn cold. As if the change in temperature had flipped a switch in his brain, he came to a sudden conclusion.

He was done running.

He was still painfully aware that he didn't deserve Rogue, but in that instant, he didn't care. Deserving or not, he was going to fight for her. Hell, he was a _thief_. He took things that didn't belong to him all the time. Maybe this life, the perfect life with the perfect girl, was never meant for someone like him. He knew that. But he was going to take it anyway. He was going to fight like hell, and if, in the end, he was unsuccessful, well, at least he could say he _tried. _And at the end of his life, when he's alone and miserable, at least he could look back and say 'I sure gave that one my all' instead of asking himself, regretfully, 'What if…'.

Of course, once again, life proved that some things are easier said than done.

He knew it wasn't going to be easy. Rogue was mad, and she had every right to be. She had given him an ultimatum, and still he left. But like Storm had said, nothing that really matters comes easily. And Rogue was something that really mattered.

It took him the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening to build up the courage to face her. She had stoically avoided him at dinner, and he hadn't quite had it in him to look her in the eye, either. It wasn't until later when the younger mutants began heading off to bed that he realized it was a 'now or never' situation. Gathering himself up as he often did before battle, he made his way to the library where he knew she was studying. Too focused on what he was going to say to her, he nearly ran into her as she was walking out the door.

She looked up at him in shock. He felt his mouth go dry as all thoughts vanished from his mind.

"_Chére_."

She frowned immediately and turned on her heel.

"Stay away from me, Swamp Rat. I got nothin' ta say ta ya."

As she began to walk away, he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back to face him.

"Well, I got somet'ing t' say t' you." He searched for her eyes pleadingly as she stared at the ground, refusing to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry, Rogue."

At that, her head snapped up and she met him with an angry glare. "Ya already said that, right before ya drove off, remember?"

He sighed. "Yeah, I know. I shouldn't have done dat." Tugging slightly on the arm he held, he pulled her closer. "_S'il vous plaît_, _ma_ _Chérie_, jus' give me anot'a chance."

She pushed away from him. "And how many chances am I supposed ta give ya, huh? At what point am I just some pathetic gal gettin' walked all over while her man keeps asking for 'just one more chance'?" She folded her arms across her chest. "I told ya what it would mean if ya left. I'm pretty sure I made myself clear."

"And I made a _mistake_," he shot back defensively. He knew this wouldn't be easy, but her rejection was starting to burn.

"Yeah, ya did," she replied bitterly. "But I'm not goin' to. I'm not going to sit around waitin' for ya to get yer act together just because ya're the only guy who's shown any interest in me. I don't _need _to be with someone, and I don't need **you**!"

As she turned to walk away in a huff, her words stung like a sharp slap across his face. Before he knew what he was doing, he was storming after her, responding in a defensive rage words that his brain didn't even register.

"_You_ don't need _me_? I don't need **you**! I could go out an' find someone in _twenty minutes _who wants t' be wit' me… someone who could **TOUCH**!"

They both froze instantly in reaction to his words. He couldn't believe he had said that, and he definitely didn't mean it.

She continued to face away from him as she spoke softly.

"Then why don't ya go do that, and leave me the hell alone." Without looking back, she walked away, leaving him still motionless in stunned silence.

He cursed Jean-Luc as he watched her walk away. Among the things he'd learned from his father was how to be cutthroat in a verbal fight. The King of Thieves had a knack for knowing the _exact_ thing to say just to make the most damage, whether he meant it or not, and apparently Remy had picked up on that trait. If he'd had any chance with Rogue before, it surely was gone now. She had hurt him, and he'd lashed in retaliation.

For moment, he contemplated just giving up. He had already been on shaking ground with her, and now he had made the situation worse. Maybe even irreparable. Every instinct in him said that now was the time to run, once again, but for the first time in his life, he pushed those instincts to the side. He'd already made the decision. He was fighting. And even if he had to fight against his own stupidity, he was going to do it. Yeah, he'd made the situation worse, but that was just one more challenge to overcome. It went on the back of the list behind his fear, her anger, his unworthiness, her sensitivity, his past, her mutation… He didn't care. If he was going to do this thing, he was going to do it full force. The list could be a mile long, and it wouldn't matter. After all, he'd always loved a challenge.

With his mind made up with steely determination, he shook his head unconsciously, breaking himself from his shocked state of rest and took off after her retreating form. Following her down the hall and up the stairs, he finally caught up to her just outside her door.

"_Chére_," he called out to her. "Please, wait. I didn't mean dat."

"Yeah, ya did," she answered before slipping through her door and slamming it in his face.

He leaned his forehead against the cool pine and continued to call out to her from outside her door. "Rogue, please… _Je suis désolé._ 'm jus'… stupid. For sayin' dat, f' leavin' in da first place, I'm just **so** stupid, _Chére_. I know dat." He closed his eyes. "But I'm done wit' dat. 'm not gonna be stupid no more. Please… please take m' back."

There was a pause before he heard her muffled reply. "Go away, Remy."

"_Non_!"

"Yes."

"_Non_!"

"Yes!"

He smiled with half-hearted amusement. They'd been down this road before.

"_Chére_, 'm not goin' away 'til y' come out here an' talk t' me. "

"I'm goin' at bed now, Remy," she announced from the other side of the door. "I'm done talkin'. Just go ta yer room and leave me alone."

"I told y', I'm not going anywhere," he called back to her. "I'll stay here all night if I have t'." He sighed and lowered himself to the floor, sitting down and leaning back against her door. He had a feeling that he was going to have to make good on that threat. "Rogue, I messed up. I get dat. But I promise y', I'm neva' gonna mess up eva' again." He paused. "Ah, hell, _Chére_, we both know dat ain't true. I'm probably gonna mess up again. Lot's o' times. But I'm **tryin'**, I really am." He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the door. "I'm tired o' runnin'. I don't wanna run from y', not anymore. Ok, well, part o' me does, but 'm sick o' listenin' t' dat part. 'm sick o' da t'ings I'm afraid of callin' all da shots.** I **call da shots, and I want t' be wit' you. I'm gonna fight f' y', _Chére_. Y' hear dat? I'm fightin' f' you!"

He could tell he was starting to ramble, but he didn't care. He was tired, unbearably sore, and it'd been a really hellish couple of days. All he wanted was Rogue back in his life, and if that made him forget some of his usual eloquence, oh well. Kitty's muffled voice called out to him from inside the room.

"Gambit, would you, like, shut up already?! Some of us have school in the morning!"

He scowled. "Bite me, _Chaton_," he called back to her. "Dis is what y' call a 'grand romantic gesture', like in y' movies. You should be eatin' dis shit up!"

He sighed and turned his attention back to the matter at hand. "_Chére_, please… I love you. An' yeah, dat scares da shit out o' me. But I wouldn't mind bein' scared every day f' da rest o' my life if it meant I could be wit' you instead o' bein' alone. And I was wrong, I **do** need you. I need y', Rogue. Y' should've seen me dese last couple o' days, I been a mess, _Chére_…" He groaned inwardly. "Girl, I don' know what y' do t' me… neva' been like dis wit' a _femme _before… I jus'… I jus' don't know what else t' say… I'm sorry. I need y'. I love you."

He waited, and was met with only silence from the other side of the door. He had no idea if she was still even listening or not.

"Ok, well, I'm just gonna stay right here," he called out as he slowly laid himself down on the floor in front of her door. "So whenever y' wanna talk t' me, I'll be here. Waiting."

He paused. "I love you."

The impact of the day's events were slowly starting to wear him down, and he felt his eyelids grow heavy. He wanted to spend all night declaring his love for her, but his body wasn't giving in.

"_Je t'aime,_" he muttered as he felt himself drift off.

He was awoken the next morning by a small hand gently nudging him in the shoulder.

"Rogue?" he called out instinctively. He turned on his side to find Kitty crouching down next to his prone form.

"Uh, no, sorry," she answered, looking rather sheepish. "She already left for school."

He looked around groggily to affirm that he was still laying in front of her door. "What," he mumbled, "did she jus' step right ova' me?"

"Um, basically, yeah," Kitty answered. "Look, I was pretty pissed at you for leaving, which, by the way, was totally not cool." He rolled his eyes. He had already figured that one out. "But, well, I heard everything you said last night," she continued, "and Rogue heard it, too. She was trying to hide it, but I could hear her crying in her bed. She's still mad, but, like, she still loves you, too. You hurt her really bad, so it's going to take some time. But just… keep at it." She stood up and began walking away. After a couple of steps, however, she paused and turned back to him "Like, don't ask me why I'm helping you. I'm going to have to, like, get earplugs, or something, so I can get some _sleep_ tonight…"

He smiled to himself as he sat up and watched the tiny brunette bounce off down the hall. She had given him hope. Sure, he wasn't back in Rogue's arm quite yet, but he was on his way. He was fighting for it, and he wasn't giving up. He thought back on that moment the night before when he had decided to give it his all. He'd been back for just over 24 hours. Just over 24 hours and he'd made the best decision of his life. And this was one decision that he definitely would not be regretting. Yes, the fight was not over yet, and the battle was certainly not won. But that didn't matter.

Rogue was worth fighting for.

* * *

Once again: _"Everything will be alright in the end. If its not, then it's not the end". _

So, in the middle of all the craziness this week, I did attempt to get some reading done when I couldn't actually write. I tried once again to chisel away at **The Ante** and I started RandiRogue's **Seether**, and both stories just proved to me once again that, really, there are so many better writers out there than me. I'm serious. Both stories, I'm sad to say, may actually be too smart for me. They say the brain is a muscle, and I seriously think mine has atrophied over the years. RR, I will get through Seether and get you some well-deserved reviews, I promise. But really, it's stories like that where I'm just amazed. I could never write like that. I don't just use simple prose just because it's my writing voice (although that is part of it), I couldn't write like that if I tried. Basically, I'm just in awe of the talent that is out there. And more importantly, I'm honored that when there are so many more talented writers available, you amazing readers take your time on my story and even bestow me with reviews. Really, thank you. Now, this isn't one of those things where I say "Wow, I suck" in the hopes that you'll write back saying "Aw, no you don't, you rock!" and then I can feel all good about myself. Honestly. I just want to acknowledge my place in the writing world, which is way below some phenomenal people, and thank you all for your loyalty for what I am. And if anyone has any other stories to recommend to me, I'm always up for good reading. Sometimes when the words aren't coming out as quickly or easily as I'd like them to, it's good to take a break and read some really good fanfic. Once again, thank you so much for reading my work, and as always, I love and appreciate your reviews!


	8. l'instinct

**Disclaimer: Ok guys, I have a little secret. So lean in close. No, closer. Closer. _Dang it_, people, CLOSER!!! I'm talking seriously covert shizz right here. Ok, wait, hold up, that's too close, just back it up a bit. Ok, right there, that's perfect.**

**See, I don't actually need to do a disclaimer, because... I _AM_ Marvel.**

Once again, I come begging for your forgiveness for the lateness of this chapter's arrival. Life, man, it just gets in the way, right? But knowing you are all out there waiting for more really pushes me forward and influences me to make an effort to work in some writing time into my busy schedule, which is _awesome_ because it's something that I need to do for myself to keep me grounded, otherwise I turn into this monotonous, personality-devoid, working machine. So, you know, thanks for the sanity. I'm trying to get all the review responses from last chapter done, but I'll be honest, it may not happen this time. If it doesn't, please know that I love and appreciate all of your reviews, especially some of you who I hold near and dear to my heart (you know who you are). And, on a side note, raise of hands here, people: Who is totally stoked for X-men Origins: Wolverine tomorrow?! In an effort to not become a rabid fangirl, I'm not allowing myself to go see it opening night (plus, I hated crowded theaters), but next week, baby, it's on! And I'm vowing not to nitpick, although, seriously, at least from the previews so far, I could. (Why the hell did they not do Gambit's red on black eyes? If they can age Brad Pitt backwards, I'm sure it's no big deal to do demonic eyes. Come on. And what's with the cards _flying_ out of his hands? Is he, like, Harry Potter now? Is this Hogwarts, the New Orleans Campus?)

**Reviewer Quote of the Week: **from **ColossusR-**

**I hope Rogue remembers this when she makes a mistake. While I agree she should not forgive him right away - making an ultimatium was definitely childish as well. I wonder how she'd feel if she was told when and how to express her fears. If she'd bothered to not be so demanding and just let him breathe then he'd have been back in hours instead of being so sure he was messed up that got depressed and he was gone for days. More I don't get this I'll not wait around on you crap - since when has she had to do that anyway? It sort of says alot about how she still sees him as a risk to her that her first inclination was he's going to leave me on and off over and over. **I had to just quote the whole thing since this review was SO right on. I hope Colossus wasn't the only reader who got this. Rogue got a lot of "You go, Girl"s last chapter, which is great and all, because it's admirable not to be a doormat. But her reaction says more about her own insecurities than anything else. Hey, even strong, mature people have issues as well! It wouldn't be ROMY if everyone was emotionally stable...

This chapter is dedicated to **starlight2twilight**, who, in a desperate plea for me to get this dang chapter out already, wrote a hilarious, spur-of-the-moment story about Remy's tiny pocket-sized dog named Tim (I named him, so don't blame S2T for the lameness). It's now posted on my profile as a companion piece to this story, and by golly, it's the highlight of all my days. S2T wanted it pointed out that it was written in a fit of randomness and NOT that she drinks Jack Daniels in the middle of the afternoon on a Monday, but really, I think the lady doth protest to much, if you get my drift... ; )

And on with the show. Today's episode is from Logan's perspective:

* * *

**_Chapter Eight: l'instinct_**

Logan was a man who lived by instinct, by following his gut. And right now, his gut was telling him that something wasn't right.

It was well past 1:00 am curfew on a Saturday night as he sat outside on the front steps smoking a cigar. His breath came out in thick clouds of fog in the chill of the winter night, not that he noticed. Several students had yet to return home. Their foolhardy attempts to sneak in undetected never failed to amuse him. But it wasn't the students that had him ill at ease on this particular night. No, it was a certain red-eyed Cajun that was currently on his mind. Logan took a long drag on his cigar before tapping the ashes to the side. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling deep in his bones that something was up with Gambit.

Not that it was the first time he'd had instincts concerning the young man. Those uneasy feelings had come straight from the beginning.

"Gambit? The Acolyte?! Chuck, you gotta be kidding…" Logan had growled as he sat in a chair opposite the Professor's desk. When Xavier had informed him that they would be taking in a new resident at the mansion, that certainly hadn't been a name the short, feral man had been expecting.

"Is there a problem?" Xavier replied, his usual calm demeanor in place.

Logan huffed. "Other than the fact that he's Magento's right-hand man?"

"'Was', Logan. The Acolyte's have been disbanded for some time now, you know that," the Professor stated. "And as I recall, Piotr was an Acolyte as well, and you had no objection to him joining us."

"Colossus is different. It ain't like he _wanted _to work for Buckethead."

"And do you know of the circumstances of Mr. LeBeau's employment with Magneto?" Xavier asked with a small smile.

Logan grunted. He hated these types of arguments with the Professor. The man had an almost insufferable faith in the goodness of just about everyone. It was pointless to debate him on the matter.

"Fine, Chuck. Maybe the kid's a saint," he consented with a roll of his eyes, "but that still don't mean it's a good idea to take him in. He's reckless. He blew up an entire double-decker bus, _while he was still in it_! We got enough problems with Boom Boom as it is…"

The Professor laughed, leaning back in his chair. "Logan, I find it highly ironic to hear that argument coming from _you_ of all people. You're not exactly known for your cool head in battle."

"Chuck, listen to me," Logan stated, leaning forward. "I spent time with the kid, remember? Tracked Rogue all the way to Tibet with him and Creed. He may act all devil-may-care, but Gambit's serious business. He's a pretty angry kid."

Xavier took a file from off his desk and handed it across to Logan. "If the information I've gathered on him is correct, I'd say he's got plenty to be angry about." Logan began leafing through the papers. "Besides," The Professor continued, "he wouldn't be the first angry kid we've taken in here, and she's been doing quite well, I'd almost say _thriving_, under our care. Mostly thanks to _your_ influence."

Logan grunted as he skimmed the information in his hand. '_Thieves Guild?' _"Yeah, well, Stripes is special."

Xavier smiled, a small twinkle gleaming in his eye. "It appears that young Mr. LeBeau would agree with you on that point."

Logan's gaze shot up from the papers he was reading. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The Professor chuckled lightly, apparently amused by the Wolverine's fatherly instincts. "Rogue is the one who approached me about taking Remy in. Apparently they've been in communication since their adventure in New Orleans."

"You mean since he** kidnapped** her," Logan growled.

Xavier dismissed his objection with a small smile and the wave of a hand. "Semantics, my friend, merely semantics. It seems, however, that they've formed some sort of long-distance relationship since then." He stopped, studying the man across from him. "I'm assuming from your reaction that you were not aware of this."

Logan paused, looking down at the papers in his lap. "No." It bothered him that Rogue had kept such a big secret from him. He thought they were close. They _were_ close. Of course, if he was honest with himself, he couldn't blame her. If he'd known that she'd been in contact with the Cajun, he probably would have gone down to Louisiana and removed the problem immediately.

"Logan," Xavier began, calling back his attention, "you know I value your input, and if you have a major objection to any new recruit, I give those concerns serious consideration."

Logan smirked. "I sense a 'but' comin' here, Chuck."

The Professor leaned forward, resting his arms on his desk and pressing his fingers together in contemplation. "Rogue first came to me concerning Mr. LeBeau over a month ago. He had not expressed any interest, but she wanted to know whether the option of him coming here would be available, if he were to desire to do so. It was at that time that I began researching his background. It wasn't easy, but you know I have excellent sources, and I believe that the information I gathered is correct." He paused, nodding towards the file that still lay in Logan's lap. "I'd like you to read through it thoroughly. This young man…" He closed his eyes momentarily, sighing. "Logan, he's been through more in less than two decades than most people go through in their entire lives. I started this Institute to help young mutants in need, and this young man is most certainly in need of our help. He's been tossed around and used so many times, I can't imagine he has any sense of self worth. But we can change that. We can help set him on the right path, otherwise, I fear he may be doomed to continue his life in a pattern of self-destructive behavior."

Logan sighed, resting back into his chair. "You know I trust yer judgment. If you think the kid's worth our time, I'll support ya."

Xavier smiled. "I'm glad to hear it Logan, because I **do** need your support. I'd like you to take young Mr. LeBeau under your wing, as you have with Rogue."

At that, Logan jumped out of his chair in exasperation. "Ah hell, Chuck! Come on… You wanna give the kid a shot, a place to stay, I've got your back. But don't make me hang out with the punk!"

"He's a lost soul, Logan," the Professor stated, wheeling around to meet his companion face to face in front of the desk. "You of all people should understand that. Just like Rogue, you two have been down the same roads. If anyone here is going to be able to get through to him, it'd be you."

When Remy had arrived at the Manor, Logan hadn't been entirely sure how he was going to accomplish Xavier's request. For one thing, he wasn't exactly the type of mentor that initiated heart-to-hearts over a midnight snack of chocolate chip ice-cream. And more importantly, it was hard to shake the urge to skewer the Cajun every time he came within a foot of Rogue, which in the beginning was nearly every second she was home. Eventually, he'd settled on a common ground: alcohol. He had noticed back during their trek that the young man would habitually swig from a small flask he kept in an inner pocket of his trench coat, and Logan had been impressed with Gambit's ability to hold his liquor, despite his young age. In controlled amounts, he seemed to maintain only a light buzz, which Logan had figured was less of an addictive habit than a rather effective way of dealing with the trial of spending extended amounts of time in the company of Creed. In Logan's mind, it was a damn-near brilliant survival instinct.

As it turned out, drinking seemed to be the perfect way for the two to bond. At the very least, Remy proved to be an enjoyable drinking companion. He only drank the hard stuff, never embarrassing Logan by ordering pansy-ass drinks like white wine spritzers or anything ending in '-tini', unlike a certain mutant scientist. And when he got really good and hammered, the Cajun was more than entertaining. Just past that middle point between the first drink and passing out cold, Remy was a talkative drunk, and Logan found his backward sense of logic at that stage extremely amusing.

"What da hell's da deal wit' forks? Dey got no purpose. What can a _stupide fourche _do dat a spoon can't?"

"Ya can't stab a piece of food with a spoon, Gumbo."

"Oh. Right. Den why da hell we need spoons, _hein_? Dey jus' a fork wit'out… what you call dose pokey t'ings? Y' know, da t'ings dey got on forks, kinda like y' claws dere, Wolvie, but _petite_, no?"

"They're called 'prongs', Cajun."

"Right. Prongs. What was I sayin'? Oh, yeah, spoons. Dey jus' a fork wit'out da prongs. Why da hell would y' wan' dat?"

"Because you can't scoop up liquid with a fork."

"Oh. Right. Well, dere's too many damn ut… utin… uten… t'ings to eat wit'. Dey oughta put dem toget'er, simplify da whole t'ing. Make like a fork an' a spoon, all 'n one. Dey could call it… a fork-spoon. No, a fa-spoon. F-poon. Foon."

"They got those, kid. They're called 'sporks'."

"SHIT, Logey! Some _fils de pute _stole m' idea! Do y' sniffy t'ing an' let's track down da _bâtard _an' kick his ass!"

A few drinks further down the line, the Cajun would still be talkative, but the conversation almost always turned somber.

"I watched 'im drown. Watched m' own cousin get pulled under. Didn' do a damn t'ing."

"There wasn't anything you could do, Gumbo."

"_Non_? I didn' even try. Too scared shitless, tryin' t' save m' own ass. Like a _lâche._"

"You were a kid, Cajun."

"Never a 'kid', Logan. Not me. Never a LeBeau, neit'er. Dat's why it shoulda' been me, 'stead o' him."

"Ya can't carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Not everything is your fault."

"Tante said dat, too. But she didn't have t' look her _oncle _in da eye, knowin' he was wishin' it was her in dat casket, 'stead o' his _fils_. Didn' have t' try t' figure out what t' say t' her cousins when dey wanna know what went wrong, why dere friend's gone. _'Tout se passe pour une raison.'_."

"I don't know what that means, kid."

"Neit'er do I."

Remy never remembered what they would talk about by morning. It was through these late night talks at Harry's that Logan had confirmed most of the information that Xavier had received to be correct. Gambit had been through some serious shit. He hoped that Rogue merely brought out the best in the young Cajun and not that she naively saw him as some sort of misunderstood saint, but either way, Logan knew that he was not the care-free joker he sometimes appeared to be. The kid had a lot of pent-up pain and anger, and quite frankly, he didn't blame him. Logan had been through similar shit in the part of his life he could remember, not to mention what may have happened that reached beyond his memory, and it took everything he had in him at times not to succumb to his more basic, animalistic instincts and go off on a manic killing spree, just to release some of that bottled-up aggression. The Professor had been right; Remy definitely needed their help. How exactly that would be accomplished reached beyond Logan's ability, in his opinion, but that didn't stop him from being concerned.

Especially since Rogue was involved.

Stubbing out the last of his cigar on the cold cement of the step, Logan stood up, checking the time on his watch before stuffing his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. 1:29. It wasn't unusual for the Cajun to be out this late, especially given the mood he'd been in when he'd left. The feral man had offered half-heartedly to join him at the bar, but the young man had shrugged him off, preferring to drink alone. It wasn't an unexpected request. The kid could be moody as hell, and he'd had a pretty bad week.

Hell, had it only been a week? Logan could hardly believe it had only been seven days ago that he had dragged the Cajun back to Bayville after the young man had predictably run away for reasons known only to himself and Rogue. It seemed like it had been longer than a week, and Logan had a feeling he wasn't the only one in the mansion who shared that sentiment.

After that first night back, Remy had for some reason decided that it was necessary to spend **every** night camped outside of Rogue's door, declaring, _loudly_, his undying love and earnest apologies for sometimes hours on end until he (and, consequently, the rest of the manor's inhabitants) finally fell asleep. After the first two nights, most of the students had acquired earplugs or some other means to afford themselves a quiet enough environment to sleep, but Logan's heightened hearing made any attempts at silence useless. He now knew how to say 'I miss you', 'you complete me', and 'I'm a total asshole' in perfect French.

Unfortunately, the nightly sleepovers in the hall were not the only attempts Remy made at winning back Rogue's heart. He had skipped the typical route of flowers and expensive gifts, either because he was smart enough to know that Rogue would not be swayed by such petty items or he was too stupid to have thought of it. Instead, he had foolishly decided to show Rogue that he was willing to change for her, and had abruptly quit smoking.

Under any other circumstance, Logan would have been supportive of the decision. He happened to enjoy his cigars, but it was an unhealthy habit for anyone without a mutant healing factor. However, quitting such an addictive habit was a stressful endeavor, and probably not one that should be done while going through a messy breakup. The Cajun had become irritable and temperamental, and that angry side of his personality that he kept under wraps on most occasions had come out in full force. He had walked around the mansion with a black cloud over his head the entire week, snapping at anyone who had the misfortune of crossing his path, with the exception, of course, of Rogue.

For her, his dark cloud would instantaneously dissipate, and the rabid beast he was for everyone else would melt into a lovesick puppy dog, a fact that Rogue would coolly ignore as she continually brushed passed him to hole up her room. She had spent the majority of the week avoiding Remy completely, spending hours staying late at school, loitering around the public library or anywhere that would afford her more time away from home. When she _was_ in the mansion, she spent most of her time in her room, only coming down for dinner, which she would devour in silence as quickly as humanly possible before retreating back to her sanctuary. Rogue was never one to run away or hide from a fight; if she wanted the guy to leave her the hell alone, she should have no problem telling it to his face. The fact that she was avoiding the young man instead of breaking his jaw meant only one thing to Logan: she wanted to take him back.

Not that he had any major objection to this. At this point, Logan himself was ready to take the kid back into his loving arms if it meant that the Cajun would go to sleep, _silently_, in his own room, at a decent hour, and, for the love of all that is good and holy, light up a damn cigarette already.

Logan scanned through the dark, peering down the long driveway hoping to catch a glimpse of an approaching headlamp in the distance. Instead, he was greeted only by the placid calm of the silent winter night. Most times the peace would be comforting, but tonight it was eerily foreboding. He couldn't shake the feeling that _something_ wasn't right. He'd had instincts like this before, and they'd never steered him wrong. Still, he resisted. More than likely he'd barge into Harry's to find the Cajun to be perfectly fine, slumped against the bar, nursing his fifth bourbon. Yet, still…

He made the resolution as he pushed the button on the communicator clipped to his belt.

"Hank?"

A brief crackle filled the air before a voice answered. "Yes, Logan."

"Keep an eye on the kids for me," he stated, searching his pockets for his keys. "I'm headin' into town."

As the wind whipped through his hair, Logan kept an eye out for any sign of trouble as the light from his motorcycle cut through the heavy darkness on the deserted country road that led into Bayville. Just ten minutes. Ten minutes and he'd be there, finally putting to rest the uneasy feeling that had been plaguing him for the better part of an hour. Ten minutes and he could tell himself with certainty that it had all been in his head. He pushed the throttle on the bike a little harder. Eight minutes. Just eight minutes and he could put the whole thing behind him.

When he finally reached town, however, that feeling of dread only increased. Bayville was not exactly known for its hopping nightlife, and almost two hours past midnight on a Saturday night, the place was practically a ghost town. But just after he had entered the city limits, a familiar scent practically hanging in the air like a thick fog sent a chill over him that caused his heart to stop in his chest. It was the Cajun, and it smelled like his blood.

A lot of it.

Paying no attention to the speed limit, Logan pushed his bike forward as fast as it would go, following the scent and cursing himself mentally for not getting there sooner. When had his instincts ever been wrong? Hell, they were part of his damn mutation! Careening down the empty streets, he screeched to a stop as he approached an alley a block away from Harry's.

A small stream of blood was slowly trickling out of it on a downward journey to the sewer drain.

Logan jumped off his bike. "Gambit?!" As he raced forward towards the alley, he heard only a small, quiet groan in response. When he rounded the corner, he cursed as he took in the sight before him.

"Shit."

Just inside the alley lay Remy, sprawled out on his back in a pool of his own blood. Logan rushed forward to kneel down beside him, reaching out and, thankfully, finding a pulse. Remy stirred at his touch, his demonic eyes fluttering open.

"Logan?"

"Yeah, kid, it's me," he responded, scanning the young man's body, looking for the source of the blood. He found three stab wounds on his left side, each oozing out to soak his black t-shirt, drizzling down to his trench coat as the Cajun shifted feebly.

"Gumbo, just lay still," Logan ordered as he punched the button on his communicator. "Hank! HANK!! I got an emergency here! **HANK**?!"

What seemed like an eternally-long two seconds later, Beast's voice responded. "Logan, what's wrong?"

"Gambit's been stabbed. He's in pretty bad shape. All I've got is my bike and the kid borrowed my spare." '_Shit_,' he cursed mentally. "We're about a block east of Harry's. Send Elf here to teleport the kid back."

There was a long, apprehensive silence before Hank's voice rang through the small speaker. "Kurt hasn't arrived back home yet."

Logan growled. "Then call him on his communicator, and tell him to port his ass over here NOW!"

He turned his attention back to the young man at his side. "Kid, can ya talk?"

Remy took a shaky breath before responding in a hollow, distant voice. "Uh… yeah, I t'ink so."

"What the hell happened?" Logan asked as he applied pressure to the largest wound.

Remy groaned in reaction before responding weakly. "It's stupid… so stupid…." The kid's faint, labored breathing worried Logan. "Some punk from da bar… jumped me… somet'ing about 'Mutie Freak'… Never shoulda taken me… wasn' payin' 'ttention… too drunk… too distracted…" His voiced trailed off, but Logan got the gist of the story. Remy took in a couple of heavy breaths before continuing. "Got me wit' da knife… den sucker-punched m'… knocked out cold, den I woke up like dis…"

"Logan?" Hank's voice startled them both. Logan turned his attention to his communicator.

"Yeah."

"Kurt's not responding." Logan went cold. There was the sound of shuffling on the other end, and he could tell from the strain in his voice that Hank was on the move. "Scott, Jean, and I are on our way with the van. We'll be there in ten minutes."

Logan glanced over at the young Cajun. His skin was paling. "Just make it quick."

Through the communicator he could hear a door slam shut and an engine start. "Fill me in on his condition, Logan. Is he conscious?"

Remy's eyes were open, but glazed over. He nodded weakly at Logan, indicating that he was cognizant.

"Yeah, he's awake."

"Good, try to keep him that way. Approximately how much blood would you say he's lost?"

Logan looked around at the pool he was kneeling in. "Shit, Hank, I don't know, a LOT. Just get the hell down here and you can see for yourself!"

"Alright," Hank responded. "We'll be there shortly."

Logan focused back on Remy. "You heard him, Gumbo, you gotta stay awake." The young man looked up at him with clouded eyes but remained silent. "Kid?"

His voice was small. "Cold."

Logan stripped off his leather jacket and wrapped it around the Cajun like a blanket, noticing with apprehension that the kid was not shivering. He was no medical expert, but he knew that was a bad sign. Carefully, Logan sat the young man up and propped him up against his chest, wrapping his arms around him in an effort to bring some warmth to his body. Normally, the kid was a bundle of energy, never sitting still and incessantly shuffling his damn cards when his body was forced to be motionless. It felt completely unnatural to have him lying there, completely unmoving, his body an almost dead weight.

He'd been quiet for too long, and it scared Logan. "Kid, I need ya to talk to me."

Remy took a few shaky breaths before speaking up. "My _pére_ would kill me… lettin' m' guard down…"

"Yeah, well," Logan responded, keeping a trained eye on the street, waiting for the approaching headlights, "you must be gettin' sloppy. I'll have to turn up the heat on your Danger Room sessions."

Remy closed his eyes. "I miss 'im…"

"I know, kid." He didn't.

The Cajun's breath hitched. "Don't t'ink I wanna die…"

Logan held him a little tighter, hoping to generate some heat. "You're not gonna die, Gumbo. Not like this." This kid had made it through too much to be taken down by some punk in the street. Hell, he'd survived an encounter with Sinister, and not many people became one of his lab rats and walked away from it. It seemed to Logan to be too cruel of a fate for someone to fight tooth and nail for their life through some of the most arduous battles only to be brought down by some bigoted asshole because they were having an off night.

"Still got stuff t' do… " Remy muttered weakly.

"That's right, kid," Logan encouraged.

"Wanna see my _frére _again…" His voice caught, and Logan looked down to make sure he was still breathing. "An' I jus' want **Rogue** back…"

Logan sighed. "Yeah, I know."

"I t'ink I really do love 'er, I jus'…"

"You just got scared," Logan finished for him. Remy nodded weakly in response.

"We all get scared, kid," Logan began, not really sure what he was saying. He just needed to keep the kid awake. "Hell, even I get scared sometimes. But guys like you and me, we don't run. Not from a fight. And you're good at fightin'… you pick one with me just about every damn day. So no more runnin', got it?"

When Remy only nodded slightly, Logan pushed for more. "I need to hear ya, kid."

"Got it," he pushed out with a heavy breath.

An uneasy silence filled the air, and Logan was just about to try once again to initiate a conversation when he heard the van approaching in the distance.

"Alright, Gumbo, just hang on for a little bit longer. The Calvary's arrivin'."

Once they arrived, they moved fast, saving any conversation and explanations for later. Jean lifted Remy into the van telepathically, laying him across the bench seat in the back. Scott jumped back into the drivers seat and sped them back to the mansion as Hank, Jean, and Logan tended to their injured teammate. Logan held gauze to his wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. Jean pumped a hand-held oxygen mask as Hank took Remy's vitals.

Logan looked around the van. "I'm a little surprised Stripes didn't come with ya…"

Jean and Hank shared an uncomfortable look before she responded. "Um, Rogue's not exactly in a helpful place right now."

"What's that mean?" Logan growled.

"Well," Beast spoke up, "she heard your distress call, and… she got a little upset. Borderline hysterical. We thought it'd be best if she waited back at the mansion."

"Shit," Logan muttered. He glanced down and noted, with a bit of relief, that the bleeding seemed to have eased up.

"She'll be fine," Beast responded. "She's just worried. The sooner we get him to the med bay, the better. For everyone." Remy's eyes were closed and he appeared to have slipped into unconsciousness.

They made it back to the mansion in record time. Hank took over the oxygen mask as Jean telepathically transported Remy inside. A small crowd was waiting for them as they entered. Rogue cried out the instant she saw the young man.

"_**REMY**__!_" she hollered as she started towards him. Logan stopped her before she could get there, pushing her back and making room for Hank and Jean to move him forward towards the elevators.

"Stripes, calm down. He's gonna be fine, but ya gotta let Hank get him down to the med bay so he can fix him up."

Unexpectedly, she threw her arms around Logan, sobbing uncontrollably. He held her tight, hating the sight of his strong, unbreakable Rogue crumbling in his arms. "I don't want him ta die, Logan! Not now… not when we…" Her voice trailed off as she broke down into a fit of sobs.

"I know," he soothed. After a few moments, he pulled her away from him to look down into her watery eyes. "Stripes, I gotta go help Hank, okay? Please, just stay up here." He looked up, addressing the entire group that was still gathered around in stunned silence. "That goes for all of you. The last thing we need is for you kids to be comin' down there and gettin' in the way. Go to bed or stay up, I don't care, just keep out of trouble. Someone will come up and let ya know how he's doin'." He nudged Rogue towards Storm, who was waiting with open arms to comfort the crying girl. He turned and addressed Scott, who had walked in behind him. "Keep an eye on the kids. And when Elf walks through that door," he added dangerously, "you tell him to wait up for me. We're going to have a serious chat."

He stalked over to the elevators and made his way down to the lower level. When he reached the med bay, he was relieved to find the Cajun lying on a surgical bed, already hooked up to the monitors with a blood transfusion and an oxygen mask in place. The Professor sat near his head as Hank examined his wounds. Logan made his way over next to Jean, who was standing off to the side, apparently having finished helping and awaiting further instructions.

"So, what's the verdict?" Logan asked.

Hank looked up. "It appears Mr. LeBeau here is very lucky. His vitals are already picking up with the blood transfusion. His major internal organs were unharmed, and it seems that his biggest concern is the amount of blood loss. His injuries would most likely have been less traumatic if we had gotten to him sooner." Logan felt a wave of guilt rush over him. If only he had followed his gut instead of questioning his instincts, the Cajun would be awake right now, joking about how he could have taken the creep if he hadn't been so wasted. Hank continued, breaking him from his self-deprecating reverie. "It's just a matter of stitching him up now. Jean, if you would assist." Jean nodded and stepped forward.

Logan glanced over at the Professor. He sat silently, his eyes closed with one hand resting upon the young man's head. Logan had seen him do this before with other unconscious patients, calming their mind and making sure their psyche was unharmed.

"Logan?" Hank called out to him. He shifted his gaze to the blue mutant at Remy's side. "I'm not in need of your assistance at this time. Perhaps you'd like to get cleaned up," Hank suggested, indicating towards Logan's blood-soaked clothes with the wave of a hand. The feral man nodded and turned wordlessly to walk out the door. He wasn't particularly interested in watching the medical procedure anyway.

He decided to take a shower in the Danger Room's changing area, knowing he had a change of clothes in his locker there and not being overly desirous to face the students upstairs. Logan sighed as he stripped off his long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. They were soaked with the Cajun's blood. There was no point in washing them. One thing he had learned over the years was that, to a man with heightened senses, the smell of blood never quite washes out. He padded over to the trashcan under the sink and tossed the soiled garments in. There was no way he could wear them again, the smell serving as a reminder of his failure as a guardian.

He turned the shower on as hard and hot as it would go before stepping in, letting the water sear his skin. Grabbing the bar of soap, he scrubbed his hands furiously. It wasn't the first time he'd had blood on his hands, both literally and figuratively. But his animalistic instincts forced him to look at his family like a pack, and as alpha male, he couldn't stand the fact that one of his pups had been injured on his watch. Logan smirked curiously to himself at the thought. Until then, he hadn't realized he had begun to consider Remy as 'one of the pups' instead of just a visitor to the pack.

He wondered then why he had ever harbored ill-feelings towards the Cajun. Perhaps it was his 'I don't give a shit' attitude, his youthful recklessness, the way he leered at Rogue like a cunning predator waiting to pounce, the fact that he seemed to delight in flipping Logan off any time he thought he wasn't looking… Actually, it wasn't such a mystery why the kid irked Logan. But despite those things, Logan understood why the Professor had brought them together. They _had _been down the same roads. They'd both been abandoned, both were tragically familiar with death, by their own hands and by the hands of others, both had been used, and had allowed themselves to be used again, not knowing how else to live. And they'd both been lost. Between his memory loss and his delayed aging, Logan didn't know how old he really was, but whatever the actual number, he knew he had been _too_ old when Xavier had found him and helped him find a purpose in life. There were a lot of wasted years. But Remy was still young, and there was no reason for him to repeat Logan's mistakes.

The kid might not have found his purpose quite yet, but he had found Rogue. Logan's protective instincts towards the girl compelled him to shield her against any possibility of being hurt, but his protective instincts towards Remy told him that the kid needed her. He sighed and turned off the water, which had long since turned cold while he let his mind wander. Given his conflicting desires, he would simply have to let them figure it out for themselves.

Changing into a t-shirt and a pair of warm-up pants, Logan headed back to the med bay. He entered to find the surgical bed empty. Xavier wheeled towards him.

"Ah, Logan, I was just coming to find you."

"Where's the kid?" Logan asked, looking around the empty room.

"Hank and Jean are setting him up in one of the observation rooms. He's fine, Logan," the Professor reassured, taking in the feral man's anxiety. "The surgery was quick and uncomplicated, and he should make a full recovery. As Hank said, his injuries in and of themselves were really not that severe, but it was the amount of blood loss that put his life in danger. It's a good thing you got to him when you did, or this night could have had a very different outcome."

Logan growled, running his hands through his damp hair in irritation. "Don't treat me like the hero, Chuck. If I had gotten to him _sooner_, he'd be awake right now."

"You can't carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, Logan. Not everything is your fault."

Logan chuckled mirthlessly, remembering the time he had said those same words to the Cajun.

The Professor wheeled over to his side, placing a soothing hand on his arm. "Logan, my friend, you look tired. Remy won't be waking for several hours. I will stay by his side, so why don't you go get some rest."

Normally Logan would protest, but truth be told, he _was_ tired. It had been an emotionally exhausting night. He glanced at his watch, noting that it was just past 3am. He sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that night. Yes, a few hours of sleep would do him good.

"Alright, Chuck," he consented. "Thanks. Besides, I oughta let the kids know how Gambit's doin'. I'm sure Rogue is still a mess."

Xavier still held his arm for a moment, preventing him from leaving. "Despite his actions, she does love him. And I have a feeling that in light of this traumatic event, she'll forego her insecurities and stubbornness to take him back. I would advice you, Logan, not to get in their way."

Logan smiled lightly. "Oddly enough, right now, I wasn't planning on it."

The Professor nodded in agreement, letting go of his arm.

"Of course," Logan called back over his shoulder as he crossed the room towards the exit, "if he hurts her again, I plan on making a pin-cushion out of him."

He heard Xavier laugh behind him as he walked out of the room. "Of course, Logan, of course."

As the elevator doors closed, Logan relaxed in the silence, the promise of sleep becoming more and more appealing by the second. His peace, however, was short lived as the elevator reached it's destination. Before the doors even opened, he could hear the sound of shouting.

"He could _**die**_, Kurt!"

"I didn't know zhis vould happen, Rogue!"

Logan stepped out of the elevator to find Rogue and Kurt facing off, with Scott standing between the two and Kitty holding back her hysteric roommate.

"You should have had yer damn communicator on! Why the hell did ya turn it off?!"

"I vas on a date with Amanda! I just…" Kurt trailed off shamefully. "I just vanted some privacy."

Rogue rounded on him in a fury. "Well, I hope ya got some really great action ta make it worth _killin_' him!"

"Zhis isn't my fault!" Kurt snapped back. "If you veren't such a cold-hearted _bitch_ and had just forgiven him, he vouldn't have gone out in zhe first place!"

Logan, as well as both Kitty and Scott, he noted, jumped forward to stop Rogue from hauling off and punching her brother, but he was surprised when, instead, she burst into tears.

"Don't ya think I _**know **_that?!" she seethed, her eyes piercing into Kurt through her tears. "Don't ya think I know that this is all my fault?!

Kurt stood there stunned, a combined look of shock and shame plastered across his features. "Rogue, I… I'm sorry. I didn't mean it!"

Logan pushed passed him and a dumb-founded Scott and Kitty to take the sobbing Rogue in his arms for the second time that night. "Shhh, darlin'," he soothed. "Nothin's your fault."

"I know he's not perfect," she sniffled, "but he's tryin'. I shoulda forgiven him. I _wanted _ta forgive him. I was just… just…"

"You were just scared," Logan finished for her, the feeling of déjà vu coming over him once again.

"Yeah," she mumbled into his chest. "I was just afraid of gettin' hurt. But none of that matters _now_, if he…" As she trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, Logan realized that in the commotion, he had forgotten to update the group on Remy's condition.

"Oh, darlin', Remy's gonna be fine. Hank's got him patched up already and he's stable and everything."

Rogue pulled away from him, her face the perfect portrait of stunned confusion. "Wait, what?"

Logan suddenly noticed the eyes of several students upon him. "I was just comin' up to tell ya. His injuries weren't as bad as they looked. He's still unconscious, but he's out of the woods. He'll be just fine."

Rogue continued to stare at him in disbelief. "I don't get it. When ya brought him in, he was so pale… and **all** that _blood_…"

Logan looked down, seeing for the first time the red stains on her shirt from when he had held her earlier. "Yeah, there was a lot of blood, but it turns out that was the worst of it." He felt horrible, seeing the look on her face. "Rogue, I'm sorry, I shoulda said something the second I got off the elevator-"

"He's gonna be okay?" she cut him off.

"Yeah," Logan responded. "He's gonna be okay."

After a moment, her face melted into a look of pure joy and relief. Her mouth crept up into a small smile before she started rushing forward towards the elevator.

"I'm goin' ta see him."

Logan caught her arm, stopping her in her path. "Rogue, wait. It's late, and he's still unconscious. Why don't ya go upstairs and get some rest. He's not going to wake up for hours."

She stared him down in deep determination. "And when he does, I'll be there."

Logan didn't need his uncanny instincts to know that at that moment, she was not to be trifled with. He released her arm, and immediately she hurried off and boarded the elevator. Once she disappeared behind the doors, Logan turned around to face the small crowd that had gathered.

"Well, you all heard me. The drama is over for the night, so everybody up to bed." None of the young mutants moved a muscle.

"NOW!" he barked, sending the students scrambling towards the stairs.

"Hey Elf, wait up," he called out, catching Kurt as he began to mount the stairs. The young blue mutant waited for the rest of the students to disperse before he hesitantly turned to face his mentor.

"So," Logan started ominously, "_was_ it worth it? That 'privacy' ya wanted, was it worth all this?" It didn't need to be further explained what 'all this' entailed. The endangerment of a teammate, the heartbreak of his sister, the disappointment of his teachers… it was clear from Kurt's expression that he acknowledged all these consequences.

"No," he muttered, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Logan sighed. "Remember that." He didn't feel like berating the young man further. It was late, and he clearly had learned his lesson. "Now, let's go to bed. We'll discuss your punishment later."

He followed the young man up the stairs to the dorms, his body shutting down with each step. By the time Logan reached his room, he was ready to fall asleep on the spot. He dropped onto the bed, not bothering to change out his clothes. He would be up in a few hours anyway. He closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep almost instantaneously.

A little more than five hours later, the sun shone brightly through a crack in the window shades, waking Logan from his deep slumber. Rolling off the bed groggily, he rubbed his eyes and forced himself awake. He'd promised himself that he would make up for his failure the night before by keeping an eye on the Cajun, so he immediately made his way down to the med bay to check on the young man's condition.

Upon entering the med bay, he heard muffled voices coming from the observation rooms and figured that Remy was awake. Hank looked up from his desk in the corner to greet the feral man. The blue mutant looked like he'd gotten about as much sleep as Logan.

"The kid's up?" Logan asked, walking towards the door to the young man's room.

"Yes," Hank responded. "He regained consciousness about fifteen minutes ago. I checked his vitals, which are stable, and his pain seems manageable. Thankfully it was not necessary to perform a more aggressive surgery to treat his wounds, which would have resulted in a more extensive recovery period. With anterior abdominal stab wounds such as he acquired, a Laparotomy is no longer considered medically necessary-"

"Hank," Logan piped in, cutting the scientist off. "Too much information."

"Right, sorry." Hank cleared his throat before continuing. "In short, Gambit should be fully recovered in a few weeks. Rogue is in with him now, so I thought I would afford the two some privacy."

Logan nodded, leaning against the wall outside the door, waiting for a chance to go in and check in on the kid. He didn't intend to eavesdrop, but with his enhanced hearing, it was unavoidable.

"I love ya, Remy. I don't know what I woulda done if something had happened…"

"'m so sorry, _Chére_."

Hearing the Cajun, Logan perked up to attention. Even through the door, he could hear the edge of distress in the kid's faint voice. Something was wrong, and it had nothing to do with the words he was saying. Not daring to question his instincts again, Logan rushed into the room immediately.

He burst through the door, clearly startling Rogue, who was laying next to Remy on his hospital bed. Ignoring that fact (he would deal with _that _issue later), he instantly noticed the flashing number on the Cajun's vitals monitor. He snapped his gaze to the young man and the oxygen mask hanging uselessly around his neck.

"Damn it kid, your oxygen levels are droppin'," he growled as he grabbed the mask and placed it back in its proper position over the young man's face. He looked back at the monitor. "Isn't that thing supposed to have an alarm or something?"

Rogue jumped off the bed. "The beepin' was freakin' him out, so I turned the sound off." She pressed a button on the side of the monitor and it sprang to life, sounding out a warning alarm. Rogue and Logan watched as the numbers climbed up, the alarm stopping as soon as his oxygenation reached a safe level. Rogue turned back to Remy. "Why the hell didn't ya say anything?"

The young man reached up weakly and pulled the mask down from his mouth so he could speak. "I just… needed t' talk t' ya, _Chére_…"

Logan watched with a mix of admiration and amusement as Rogue grabbed the mask and placed it back over the Cajun's face forcefully. "Damn it, Swamp Rat, it doesn't matter what ya have ta say if ya're _dead_! None of it matters. Yer stupidity, my damn pride and insecurity… None of that means anything anymore. I just want _you_." Logan suddenly felt like an unwelcome voyeur as he watched the two exchange a look that seemed to say more than her words ever could. "Besides," Rogue added with a smile, "you've been grovelin' for a week. I think I get the point."

Remy gave her a small smile under his mask before his eyes fluttered closed.

"Kid?" Logan probed, fear creeping into him as he watched the young man slip back into unconsciousness. Rogue hushed him with a raised finger before motioning for them to leave. Logan followed her out of the room. Rogue spoke up once she closed the door behind her.

"Hank said Remy'll be in and out for a while. He needs his rest."

"Ah, yes," Hank called out from his desk across the room. "Due to the large amount of stress that his body has been through and the strength of the medication I have him on, it should be expected that he would-"

"**Hank**," Logan growled.

"Right, sorry. Like Rogue said, it's normal." The large, furry mutant slinked back further in his chair, appearing as if he wished he could disappear from the feral man's irritated glare.

"Logan," Rogue spoke, calling back his attention. "I, uh, wanted ta thank ya… for savin' his life."

"Don't do that, Stripes," he grunted, shifting his gaze. "You're givin' me credit I don't deserve. I shoulda been there sooner-"

She put a hand on his arm, stopping him in his tirade. "I don't care what ya shoulda done, I care what ya did. So thank you… for givin' me another chance ta give _him_ another chance."

Logan looked down at the young woman he had come to see as a daughter. He still wasn't sure that the Cajun was the best thing for her, but he could see why she was the best thing for him. For the time being, his gut was telling him to let them be. And he wasn't about to second guess his gut, not this time.

He gave her a small smile. "No problem, Stripes." He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly before heading towards the door to exit. Before leaving, he turned around to face her again.

"One more thing," he called back, giving her a pointed stare. "Keep off his damn bed, would ya Stripes?"

Rogue scoffed good-naturedly as she smirked back at him. "Bite me, Logan."

He chuckled as he left the med bay, heading back upstairs for a much needed cup of coffee. She was a smart girl, and she was strong. The kid needed someone like that.

As the elevator ascended, he felt his body relax. For the first time in almost nine hours he wasn't filled with a foreboding sense of dread, and that realization gave him a much need relief like a cool, gentle breeze on a hot summer day.

He had a feeling that, for the time being, everything was going to be okay.

* * *

French Translations:

_stupide fourche:_ stupid fork

_fils de pute: _Son of a bitch

_lâche: _coward

_Tout se passe pour une raison: _Everything happens for a reason

* * *

References:

Logan and Xavier's conversation references X-men:Evo episodes 'Lock and Key', 'Dark Horizon's Part 1', and 'Dark Horizon's Part 2'.

Remy's late night drunken story refers to the time when he was 15 and went on his tilling with his cousin Ettiene. They were caught and had to jump off a cliff into the sea to escape. Remy survived, but his cousin drowned. You can find a description of Remy's past at wikipedia, or I'm sure there are other, better, sites out there with his background. I find for this story, vague references fit in better than a full out description of the past.

So, I don't know if it's common knowledge by now, but I'm simply fascinated by Remy's character. I'm going with a particular take on him in this story, but I certainly don't think this is THE way to portray him, or even the best. It's just the story I'm telling. But there are some AMAZING Remy's out there in the fanfiction world that I feel I MUST recommend:

Silver Nitte Iz writes the SEXIEST Remy on the planet, and it's not just the body. The way she portrays his complex nature is just... to put it lightly, it's like a literary orgasm. And that has nothing to do with the actual sex that's in her story, it's just HIM. I mean, Dang. If you haven't read 'It Takes Two To Practice', drop out of school, quit your job, do whatever it takes to secure yourself time to read that dang thing, because it's amazing. And we got a new chapter to the sequel on Sunday! Squee! Remy's still AWOL, but he's coming... I just know it.

aiRo25writes is writing my new favorite story 'Son o' de Guild' right now, and I'm blown away. Seriously, girl, this is the best piece you've done so far, and that's saying a lot given your other works. I don't think there's been a more _compelling_ Remy written, and this is just, what, three chapters in? I know I haven't reviewed yet, I've just been focusing on getting this chapter out, but it's coming. There's just something about the set up there that's haunting and just purely pitch perfect. Anyway, I'll get more into that in my reviews, but everyone else, go read it. You'll be sucked in, I guarantee it.

And even though it's not a big characterization piece, I need to recommend another story, since I'm pimping out my readers already. Everyone go read PoisonRogue's 'That, Which Binds' and give it the reviews it deserves! I'm not usually as hooked on plot-driven stories, but this one has me. It's rich and artful, and the characters are spot-on. I just can't wait for more, and I believe it deserves as many readers as possible.

Ok, since this second author's note is loooooooooooong enough as it is, and the first one was a novel, let's just cut out my song and dance. I'd love for you give me a review. They make me smile. It's a like a cookie without calories. So, please do so. _Merci._


	9. Just a Moment

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm not actually Marvel. But I _am_ a compulsive liar.**

Has anyone else noticed that my author's notes have gotten ridiculously long? Yeah, they have. So I'm going to _try_ to keep it short and simple here, we'll see how it goes. Thanks once again for all the great reviews, and a special shout-out to all my new readers. I had a large increase in new story-alerts and a bunch of first time reviewers, so Woot Woot and Welcome to you all. Let's see, my excuses for this week's lateness: X-men Origins: Wolverine (eh), Twilight - the book (meh), Twilight - the movie (Yeck!), New Moon (in progress).

**Reviewer Quote of the Week:**

***relieved gasp*** - Ok, I just love **Valnar**'s simple way with words. His/her (curse those sexually-ambiguous usernames!) little two-word reviews tickle my fancy every time...

This chapter is a sort-of interlude. It was just something that I really wanted/needed to be a part of the story, but it didn't fit in with last chapter, it doesn't fit with the next, but it doesn't quite feel like a 'chapter' on it's own, although it ended up being almost long enough to be one. So, like I said, it's a sort-of interlude. Enjoy!

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**Chapter Nine: Just a Moment (Interlude)**

It was just one of those times that you later look back on and cringe. Or, more accurately, you avoid looking back on completely, pushing the memory as far from your mind as possible to where it merely hangs on the edge like a wisp until you can almost, _almost_, convince yourself that it never really happened, that it was only a bad dream, leaving as quickly as it came. In other words, Remy LeBeau was having a very bad week.

Not that he was even conscious for much of it. The 'good doctor' had seen to that.

Remy **hated** the med bay, and he was fairly certain that his previous experience on a surgical table made his abhorrence justifiable. Unfortunately, despite his objections, Dr. McCoy insisted he remain there for at least the first part of his recovery, and was resorting to the cheap trick of intravenous painkillers and sedatives to achieve his goal. '_Damn doctor'. _It wasn't the first time he'd been stabbed, and it probably wouldn't be the last. There was no reason for him to be treated like he was on his deathbed. The last time he'd been stabbed, Jean-Luc had him up and training only three days later. Sure, it hurt like hell and he'd ripped his stitches out numerous times, resulting in the ugly scar that would forever adorn his right shoulder, but he'd survived. Apparently the Guild and the X-men had differing opinions on the definition of 'medical care'.

Though Remy wondered what kind of 'care' included keeping an unwilling patient either drugged up or completely knocked out most hours of the day. Of course, if he was truly honest, he'd sort of brought it upon himself.

The sedatives had come as a last resort. When he'd finally become completely and fully aware of his surroundings, coming into full consciousness after teetering both sides for the better part of that first day, the panic had set in. Unfortunately, Rogue had not been in the room at the time, seeing that he'd been pretty calm and out of it the times that he had woken up already, and having figured he would be out long enough for her to get a shower and a bite to eat. Immediately he had ripped out his iv and rolled himself off the bed in a woozy, half-brained attempt to escape. Crashing **painfully** to the floor, he had tried, unsuccessfully, to pull himself up into a standing position, intent on making a run for it. It was a harebrained idea at best, seeing as he hadn't even the strength to pick himself off the ground, but in his current state of panic he wasn't exactly thinking clearly. Hank had burst in and, with very little effort, placed him securely back in bed. Remy had tried to fight him off, but it was pathetically useless. In his weakened condition, even a singular Jamie could have kept him at bay. Still, he continued to struggle, despite the searing pain in his side. He was **not **staying there.

That's when the sedatives had started.

The senior members of the team had learned their lesson after that first incident, making sure someone was by his side the next time he woke up. Unfortunately, Remy hadn't learned his. As soon as he regained consciousness again, he once more attempted to escape. This time, however, he only got as far as pulling his iv out before Logan and Rogue restrained him, trying in vain to talk him down from his manic state. He continued his futile resistance until Hank was, in his words, 'forced' to use the tranquilizers.

After four more bouts of the same routine (he was nothing if not persistent), Remy had given up trying to flee the second he woke up. Still, Hank kept him partially sedated, stating the need to keep him calm in order to prevent him from aggravating his healing wounds. It seemed cruel and out of character, which Remy took as a sign that his usually steadfast mental shields must be down. The truth was, he was patiently waiting to make a break for it the moment they slipped up and the full effect of the drugs wore off, and the Professor must have tipped the doctor off.

Quite frankly, it was a terrible existence. Remy hated every second, having no control over his own body and very little over his own mind. It reminded him of his time with Sinister, as if the setting of the med bay alone wasn't enough, and filled him with a deep sense of terror that the morphine merely calmed to a low simmer.

His entire sense of time was thrown off. He slept constantly, and thus had no bearing on what time of day it was, or even what day for that matter. At one point the had momentarily closed his eyes in exhaustion while playing cards with Storm, only to open them to find Storm gone, with Rogue sitting in the bedside chair in her place, quietly doing her homework, the cards that he had been holding in his hands magically disappearing. It was disconcerting. It seemed as if time was no longer a constant in his drugged-up state.

More over, the whole experience was frustrating. He had constant visitors, a provision that had been set up to distract him from his surroundings enough to keep him from panicking once again, but due to his tendency to check out unexpectedly, he never finished a conversation with anyone. Kitty had tried to finish her story three times, and normally he wouldn't give a rat's ass, but now it was infuriating that he _still_ didn't know what the hell Lucy from Biology had done that was so atrocious after two, no, **three** days.

Rogue had set him up with a small pile of History Channel dvds, seeing as nothing on television was worth watching. Once you've grown up on the streets, been heir to the throne of an international crime family, worked for a megalomaniac terrorist bent on human destruction, and joined-up with a group of teenaged superheroes, not to mention the fact that you have demon eyes and can blow things up with the touch of a finger, it's hard to be entertained by anything a Hollywood writer could come up with. Unfortunately, he never stayed awake long enough to finish anything. He'd been really excited to watch a biography on Howard Hughes, but after several failed attempts to stay lucid long enough to reach the end, he'd given up. He'd heard the guy went nuts, but he never made it past when he flew his plane into a Beverly Hills mansion. '_Maybe after the crash his doctor held him hostage with night-night drugs, and __**that's**__ why he lost his mind'_, Remy mused dryly.

With all attempts at distraction failing miserably, his mind was left with nothing to do but dwell on thoughts of Rogue. She plagued his dreams as well.

She had taken him back, and that was a good thing, right? It was what he wanted, and had been the desire that served as the driving force behind all his actions for the entire week before his 'accident' (which was what he was calling it, seeing as it wouldn't have happened if it were not for his own stupidity. To refer to it as an 'attack' would give credit to the douche bag who had merely taken advantage of his unforgivable lapse in judgment). But in the calm wake of all the turmoil of their break-up and dramatic make-up, that terrorizing fear that had set everything in motion in the first place still remained.

He had told her he loved her. Once was bad enough, but he couldn't even count how many times he'd thrown out the sentiment during his week-long period of desperate groveling. At the time, it hadn't mattered. He'd been on a high, like in battle, and in much the same way that it didn't scare him to charge up objects to take down opponents close enough to blow himself up in the process, the emotion had rolled off his tongue with adrenaline-fueled ease. Now, looking back, it was terrifying. He had made himself vulnerable, and now she held all the cards. With very little effort, she could crush him in her tiny, perfect hand. He had been careful in his life, up till then, never to give that power to anyone. No one would get close enough to hurt him, not completely. At least that's what he tried to tell himself. But now, with those three little words, he had handed himself over to her mercy.

Not that he didn't mean it. He did love her, or at least that's what he was attributing to the desperate ache that pulled at him when she was away, and the comforting sense of absolute wholeness that filled him whenever she was near. Yes, he did love her. It just scared the hell out of him.

He hadn't been able to bring himself to say those words again, despite the fact that Rogue was being uncharacteristically affectionate. Apparently his little accident had rattled her quite a bit. He knew it would wear off. In the meantime, he was enjoying the closeness and physical intimacy she was offering while he could, already seeing her slowly retracting back into her controlled restraint a little more each day.

"Remy?"

Her voice broke through his thoughts, and he opened his eyes wearily.

"Hmmm…" he replied lazily, the ceiling above him coming into hazy view. The nice thing about being knocked out most of the time was that eventually people stopped expecting you to put any effort into having a normal conversation.

"You wakin' up or are ya still sleepin'?"

He turned to see her sitting in the chair beside him. He yawned and sat himself up more fully in the bed, gazing at her. Her auburn hair hung loosely past her shoulders, a slight casual wave hinting at her natural curls. He smiled, thinking back. It had grown out since he first met her. Her white bangs gently framed her face, accentuating the whites in her eyes and making her clear green orbs shine like the emerald he had once pilfered from a museum in London when he was sixteen. She was by far the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Um, yeah, 'm up." He blinked his eyes forcefully a few times, pulling himself from his medicated stupor. He noticed her book-bag sitting on the floor by her feet. "Y' off t' school, _Chére_?"

Rogue laughed lightly and gave him a sympathetic smile. "I just got home, Rems. It's two o'clock."

He groaned. "What day is it again?"

"Friday, sugah." He closed his eyes in frustration. '_Damn, Damn doctor_.' "Hey, Rems," she inquired after he made no response, "how ya feelin'? Feel like yer comin' out of it at all?"

He opened his eyes again curiously. "Whatcha talkin' 'bout, _Chére_?"

She smiled at him, and his heart melted. "Well," she started, leaning forward, "Hank says yer recoverin' well enough that ya can go up ta yer room now. He took ya off the sedatives a few hours ago, so they should be startin' ta wear off."

Now that he thought about it, his head _was_ beginning to clear. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest. He was free. "Let's go!" he exclaimed as he threw back the blanket that was laid across his lap.

Rogue laughed openly as she pushed him gently back against the bed. "Cool it, Rems, ya're not ready ta go yet. Hank needs ta check on ya one more time ta make sure everything's alright. Besides, I wanna make sure all that medicine's completely outta yer system. I don't feel like haulin' yer sorry carcass up the stairs."

Remy groaned in frustration. "Well, where da hell is he? Da soona I get outta dis hellhole, da betta'."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Ya're such a drama queen sometimes. Hank will be in in a minute, he's just finishing up an experiment or something. He had a bunch of scary chemicals in his hands, I wasn't about ta bother him. In the meantime…" she leaned forward, fishing for something in her backpack. "I brought ya a present." She pulled out a plain white t-shirt and a pair of track pants. "Hope they're clean, it's hard ta tell in that hazmat area ya call a room." She placed the items on the bed next to him. "I figured ya wouldn't want to be walking through the mansion in that," she stating, waving a hand at his ensemble.

He grinned. "Ah, _merci, Chére_!" The loose hospital scrubs they had forced him to wear were humiliating. As if it wasn't bad enough that he was being treated like an invalid, they were dressing him like one, too. "_Vous êtes un ange de clémence._"

He began pulling off his top, barely bringing the hem up past his ribs before a sharp pain in his side caused him to yelp out involuntarily. '_Damn doctor!_' he thought angrily as he clenched his teeth until the throbbing subsided. If it wasn't for the morphine they'd put him on and the incessant coddling, he'd be conditioned to the pain by now.

"Here," Rogue said, standing up and coming to his aide, "let me help ya."

Ever so slowly, she reached out her delicate, gloved hands to tentatively grasp his hem. His breath caught as she gently lifted the shirt up and over his head, her slender fingers brushing up his chest with just a whisper of a touch. She was so close… It felt as if time had slowed considerably, and he vaguely wondered if the drugs were taking effect again. He chanced a sly glance in her direction as she looked down to pick up his t-shirt. She swallowed forcefully. He knew then that she felt it, too, that slight awkwardness between them that hadn't existed a mere month ago. He tried to quell the fear that was rising in his chest as she tenderly draped his shirt over his head, pulling it down with gentle consideration to his wounds.

She avoided his gaze as she helped him out of his hospital pants and into his new ones. The silence between them became more uncomfortable as the minutes passed. He tried to think of something to say to break the horrible hush that had fallen over them, but his brain was foggy with disuse, and he came up empty handed. Thankfully, Rogue finally spoke up as she folded his discarded scrubs and placed them on the bedside table.

"Have ya called yer dad back yet?" His gratitude vanished at her chosen topic of discussion.

"I told y'," he muttered, "I ain't callin' him."

Remy had been horrified when he was told that the Professor had called Jean-Luc to inform him of what had transpired. For one thing, he'd had no idea that Xavier knew how to contact the Guild; it was scary to think of what other information the telepath might have on him. But more importantly, he couldn't believe that they'd told his father what had happened. Just _imagining _the look of stern disappointment on Jean-Luc's face filled him with humiliation and shame.

"Remy," she prodded, "the Professor said he sounded pretty worried. He wanted ya ta call him back as soon as ya woke up. It's been almost six days. He probably thinks ya're dead!"

Remy scoffed. "If I was dead, da Professor woulda called an' let 'im know _dat_, too."

"Remy…" She looked like she was gearing up for another argument on the subject, but thankfully Hank chose that moment to walk in the room for his examination.

After his stitches were checked, his vitals noted, and one more set of blood drawn (for a man so concerned with how much blood he had lost originally, Hank seemed to have no qualms about seizing whatever was left), Remy was given the green light to head up his own room for the remainder of his recovery. He felt like flying, and if he had his full strength he would be running out of the torture chamber he'd been held captive in for the past week faster than lightning, or Sam, for that matter, but sadly his only option was to hobble out feebly, leaning heavily on Rogue's shoulder.

In the seemingly long and painfully silent elevator ride up to the resident's floor, that palpable awkwardness once again descended upon them. Remy's heart ached to the point it nearly made him cringe. She was so close, he could hear the soft, steady rhythm of her breath and smell the light vanilla fragrance of her shampoo. The arm that he had draped over her shoulder for support practically burned with the contact. He wanted her so badly he could hardly stand it, and for once it was a want that had very little to do with physical intimacy. More than anything, he wanted, needed, to have her in the way he had before all this ugliness had taken place between them. As the elevator slowed to a stop, he glanced down at her wrist, noting that she still wore the watch he had given her for Christmas. 'My girl'. Right now, he felt very little claim on her at all.

By the time they reached his room, he had fallen into a deep funk. He was grateful that she turned away from him to close the door softly as tears prickled threateningly at the corners of his eyes. Maybe he was being overdramatic, or maybe it was a side-effect of the medication he'd been kept on all week, but whatever the reason, he felt a desperate need to regain that closeness, to reconnect with her in a way that had nothing to do with his repentance or her relief at his safety.

He grabbed her hand and gently tugged her to his side, breaking her off her path to his bed to ready it for him. She stared at him intently, her eyes wide with anticipation.

"Please, _ma Chérie_," he pleaded softly, breaking the silence. "Just a moment."

Still holding her small hand in his, he reached over with his other arm to turn on the stereo that sat upon his dresser.

"_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone…"_

He turned back to face her, pulling her close. He embraced her tenderly, one hand on the small of her back, holding her to him. After a moment's hesitation, she melted into the embrace, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head upon his chest as he weaved his other hand loosely in her hair.

"_It's not warm when she's away…"_

They began swaying softly to the music, not really dancing, not really standing still, just… being.

"_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone _

_And she's always gone too long, anytime she goes away."_

He breathed a sigh of relief, his feelings of panic and anxiety ebbing as he held her in his arms for the first time in far too long. He would never understand the power that this young _fille_ had over him. He'd been with countless women, all older, much more experienced, more exotic and sexual than Rogue. The women he usually entertained had the type of beauty that graced the covers of magazines, that made lesser women ripe with jealousy. But this girl, this woman, that he held in his arms, had evoked feelings in him in a place he thought no one would be able to touch… his heart. Where his past lovers had a sexual nonchalance and worldly callousness, she had youthful innocence and the type of hope and faith that would've been naïve if not tempered by the wisdom of experiences well beyond her years. She was strong enough to be his pillar, and soft enough to be his comfort. She was everything he never knew he'd been looking for.

He couldn't possibly imagine that he was that for her as well.

"_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone _

_And this house just ain't no home, anytime she goes away."_

She squeezed him tighter unexpectedly, burying her face in his chest.

"Remy…" she whispered, just the faintest hint of desperation on the edge of her voice. "I love you."

He closed his eyes, shutting in the few traitorous tears that threatened to spill over. He wanted to respond, but he couldn't. He wanted to tell her, hell, he wanted to shout it from the rooftops, that he loved her, _loved her_, in a way he thought he was completely incapable of. But he was undeserving. He just wasn't 'built' that way. He bit his lip, remaining horribly and regrettable silent.

He was surprised when she pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, her face radiating with compassion. "Are ya still scared?" she asked, the trace of anxiety betraying her inner feelings.

He looked away from her, unable to meet the cool, green pools of her eyes. "Yes," he answered in a whisper after a moment's pause.

She lingered for a moment before laying her head back against his chest. "I wish I knew what it was exactly that ya were so afraid of."

He sighed. After a long hesitation, he answered her as best he could, his voice barely audible.

"'m not a good man, _Chére_."

Once again, she held him tighter. "I wish I could make ya see what I see."

He chuckled lightly, but the humor wasn't there. "You gotta lot o' wishes today."

She pulled back to look him in the eye once more, and this time he found he couldn't look away. "Yeah, I do. I wish I could take away yer pain, Remy. I wish I could keep ya from being hurt again. I wish I could be everything ya need. I wish I could _give _ya everything ya need. I wish I didn't have this damn mutation. I wish I could keep ya forever, that ya wouldn't eventually get tired of me, stop wantin' me…"

He looked down at her in awe. How could she possible think that? He gently took her face in his hands, the hair framing her face protecting him from her poisonous skin. "_Ma Chérie_, I could neva' stop wantin' y'… _never_. I'm gonna want y' long afta' y' figure out dat 'm no good f' y'."

She looked into his eyes pleadingly, now gripping the front of his shirt desperately as a few stray tears began trailing down her cheeks. "You _are_ good for me, Remy. You're the **best** for me."

He closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his forehead upon hers. "I jus'.." he choked out, "I jus' don' wanna lose you."

"I don't wanna lose ya, either."

They stood there in silence, their scarce tears falling noiselessly to the floor at their feet, the forgotten music drifting in the background. He could feel it then, the unspoken truth between them.

They needed each other.

After several minutes of serenity, she reached up gently to caress his cheek, rough from a days worth of stubble, with her gloved fingers. "Ya really ought ta lay down, sugah."

His eyes shot open. "Don' leave me, _Chére_," he pleaded.

She smiled at him, that warm, rare smile that melted his heart, and his worries melted with it. "I'm not goin' anywhere. I just think ya need ta rest."

He nodded and released her from his grasp. She took his hand wordlessly and led him to the bed, helping to lower him down gently before curling up beside him. He wrapped his arms around her securely, a physical reminder that she was still with him, that she still wanted him. He closed his eyes, feeling for the first time in a week the pull of slumber that came from the overwhelming comfort of peace instead of the aggressive drag of medication. He breathed in her familiar and heady scent as he drifted off into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

**French Translation:**

_Vous êtes un ange de clémence:_ You are an angel of mercy

_Merci_: Thank you

_Fille_: girl

* * *

So, we're going to play a little game of chance. I have the name of **one** lucky reader in my head, and I'm not going to update again until that **one **reader writes a review. It could be one of my loyal reviewers, it could be someone who reviews every once in a while, it could be one of you readers who lurk and never review (I know your usernames because... um... I'm psychic!). Or... it could be **YOU**! Now sure, you could chance it and not review. I mean, in all likelihood this is just a ploy to get more reviews and I'm still going to update whenever the chapter gets done, like always, whether you drop me a line or not. But are you willing to take that risk? Are you? And there's the thrill of our fabulous game of chance! Woo hoo!

Oh, and the person I pick will also get a prize. That seems appropriate, right? How about... I don't know, a pony. Sure, why not.

(insert obnoxious sideways winky-smiley thing here)


	10. A Greater Purpose

**Disclaimer: Uh....**

So, I've gotten to a point where my schedule is so busy, it's a choice between doing really great review replies or getting chapters out at a reasonable rate. I'm going for chapters. Is that okay with everyone? I'll still reply to questions anyone has, and certain reviews are just too awesome not to reply to, but overall, just know that I'm sayin' "Thanks for reviewing, and you rock the kazbah!" even if I'm not _actually_ saying it. Because, you _do_ all rock the kazbah, whatever that actually means...

Oh, and the winner of the contest was... YOU! Wait, not _you_, just... yeah, move a little to the side, yeah, you back there... **YOU**! Congratulations. However, I gave away your prize to **RandiRogue** because I stole her song. Sorry.

**Reviewer Quotes of the Week:**

**Wanda W:** _He may be trying to hold back, but his final request that she remain with him was very revealing and I hope she picks up on it. _Ah, those double meanings... glad you picked up on that.

**Chica De Los Ojos Cafe:** _That's the spirit, just think of the future stabbings to come (note the sarcasm). Remy is such a dork!_ The Ragin' Cajun takes great offense to being called a dork.

Hey everyone, according to my calculations, today is **Chica**'s last day of school! Everyone give her a high-five, or a fist-bump, or a man-hug, or something! Woot Woot!

A tiny part in this chapter is inspired by imagery presented in **Tamarai**'s Collision of Coincidence. I'll note it specifically at the end. But you should recognize it if you've read the story, and if you haven't, well... what are you doing here? Go read that story!

* * *

**Chapter Ten: A Greater Purpose**

"What da hell are we watchin', anyway?" Remy asked suddenly, as three set of surprised eyes turned to him. Twenty minutes before, he had slipped into the den without a word and dropped with boneless ease next to Rogue on the couch, draping an arm over her shoulders and turning wordlessly to the movie that she, Kurt, and Kitty were already watching. He'd remained silent until his unexpected question.

"Uh… it's Oliver, the musical," Kitty responded from the other couch, where she sat with Kurt.

"Huh," Remy responded. He scrunched his nose at the screen.

"What, you don't like it?" Rogue asked.

He turned to her. "It's, uh…" He searched her face, trying to read from her expression her opinion of the film. He'd learned from past mistakes that it was a bad idea to make fun of anything she liked. His southern spitfire did not take too kindly to gentle teasing. Not being able to discern anything from her expression, he decided it was best just to avoid the topic completely. Truth was, he cared very little about the movie. "It's fine. Besides… don' care what's on, Remy jus' wanted t' sit here close t' his _belle Chérie_." He leaned in closer, pressing a slow, lingering kiss into the hair near her temple.

Kurt groaned from the other side of the room. "If you're going to slobber all over _meine Schwester_, I'd appreciate it if you didn't do it in front of me. Besides, ve're trying to take notes here," he stated, gesturing at the notebooks in his and Kitty's laps.

"It's for a school project," Rogue interjected before he could ask.

"Yeah," Kitty piped in, "We have to do a paper on Oliver Twist, any topic we want, so Kurt and I are comparing it with the musical adaptation."

Remy turned back to Rogue quizzically. "So why _you_ watchin' it, _Chére_?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, her focus back on the television screen. "I like Dickens."

He turned to the screen as well, eyeing the young boys who were dancing around a dirty London street. "Which one o' dem boys is he?"

Rogue chuckled lightly and snuggled closer to Remy, slouching down further on the couch and resting her head on his shoulder, her eyes remaining ahead. "Charles Dickens is the guy who wrote it, Rems."

He pouted slightly, his eyebrows pinched together, before turning his attention back to the movie. Come to think of it, the name sounded familiar. He should have thought about it before he said something. He hated looking like an idiot in front of Rogue.

On the screen in front of them, a group of young boys in exaggeratedly oversized clothes and carefully applied dirt smudges were prancing around singing, accompanied by an unnaturally ugly man with a scraggly beard. _"Have no fear, attack the rear. Get in and pick-a-pocket or two!" _Remy smirked, and a quiet snicker slipped out before he was able to suppress it.

"Not a word, Remy," Rogue seethed warningly.

"I'm sorry, _Chére_," Remy forced out between restrained chuckles. "It's just… dis ain't for a _history_ assignment, right?"

"Like, what's that supposed to mean?" Kitty asked innocently.

Remy stifled his grin as Rogue turned to glare at him. He tightened his hold on her with the arm around her shoulders, giving her a reassuring squeeze and a charming wink for good measure. "'s not'ing, _Chaton_," he answered without looking. "Jus' watch y' movie."

"No, like, wait a minute," Kitty pressed, suddenly intrigued. "You were a pickpocket, right? When you were an orphan on the streets? So, like, what are you saying? Is this not what it was like for you?"

Remy tensed up instantly, coolly looking down on Rogue, who was now distinctively avoiding his gaze, snapping her head back towards the television purposefully. The X-men knew a sketchy outline of his history, but he was _pretty_ sure he'd only shared the details with Rogue. Apparently she'd had loose lips with her roommate. "Not exactly," he replied, still glaring at Rogue, wishing she would look him in the eyes as he tried to smother the anger that was beginning to simmer in his gut.

"Ok," Kitty continued, apparently not noticing the sudden tension between the two southerners, "like, what was different?"

Remy closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming himself forcefully. Opening his eyes once again, he turned to Kitty with a casual grin. There was no point in getting angry over this, if he could avoid it. Things had just gotten back to normal, maybe even _better_ than normal, with Rogue, and he didn't want this little incident to spoil it, especially since he could probably get the subject dropped in less than a minute.

"Well, for one t'ing," he responded flippantly, keeping his voice carefully relaxed, "I don' recall doin' so much dancin'. Alt'ough, I did do some singin', but dat jus' be because I happen t' have a _trés belle _voice."

Unfortunately, Rogue seemed to mistake his attitude as willingness to speak on the subject. "But a lot of things were the same, right Remy? I mean, ya were in that child pickpocket guild, and the guy who ran it was named Fagen, just like in Oliver Twist."

Rogue's statement surprised him, and he momentarily forgot he was trying to bring an end to the conversation. "Wait, dere's a guy in dis movie called Fagen?" He really hadn't been paying much attention to the movie. The t-shirt Rogue was wearing had a slightly scooped neck, and from his position next to her, if he tilted his head at just the right angle, he could see all the way down between the crevice of her cleavage. Of course, if she shifted slightly, his line of sight would be thrown off and he was forced to readjust. It was an all-consuming activity, and as such, the details of the movie had pretty much been pushed to the side.

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Yeah, Rems, that guy there." She pointed at the screen. "The old guy singin' the song. He's the leader of the gang and his name is Fagen."

"Oh." He remembered vaguely that the Fagen he knew had been given the moniker by the Guilds, something like a nickname. "Guess dat's where he got da name from, _hein_?"

"So Dickens wasn't that far off, right?" Rogue pushed.

Slowly, Remy was beginning to remember his irritation. "It jus' wasn't da same, okay Rogue? Jus' drop it."

"How was it not the same, Rems?"

"It's just wasn't!" he snapped. "I mean… I don' know Rogue, it was jus' different! We weren't like a gang, or somet'ing. Dere were ot'er boys, yeah, but it's not like we all hung out toget'er. 's not like we were _friends_."

"Why not?" she questioned, her big green eyes wide with interest.

"Why da **hell** would we be friends?!" he practically shouted in exasperation. "We weren't a softball team, _Chére_! Dey were competition! F' food, marks, a place t' sleep…"

"But y'all lived with Fagen-"

"Nobody _lived _with Fagen!" he seethed. "T'ink about it, _Chére_. What kind o' guy likes spendin' time wit' a bunch o' young, defenseless boys? You t'ink anyone wants t' _live _wit' dat?" A voice in the back of his head was telling him to stop talking, shut his damn mouth already, but it was useless. As if a dam had been opened, the words just kept pouring out of him. "We lived on da streets. Fagen's was jus' a place t' crash when da weat'er got bad or t' hide out from Social Services. Y' pay y' dues, y' get protection. Dat's it."

"Wait a minute, you _hid_ from Social Services?" she questioned, her eyebrows knit in confusion. "I know foster homes suck, but it would have a lot been better than everythin' ya're describing."

"Really, Rogue? You t'ink wit' dese **eyes** it'd be a good idea t' jus' hand myself ova' to da government?" He stood up angrily and began pacing in front of the couch, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "Hell, Fagen's kids beat da shit out o' me every chance dey got, but I bet t'ose boys at S.H.I.E.L.D be _real _gentle…" Suddenly, he stopped his pacing, a soft scratching sound catching his attention. He turned to Kitty, who was still sitting, scribbling away furiously in her notebook. "What da **hell **are y' doin', _Chaton_?"

"Like, taking notes!" she responded gleefully, not looking up from her paper as her pen continued to move across the page at an inhuman rate. "This is _way_ better than the musical angle! A real-life comparison will, like, totally get us an 'A', don't you think, Kurt?"

Kurt, for his part, had sat in stunned silence for the entire exchange, and was now staring at Kitty in horror. His look seemed to portray that he wanted in no way to be associated with her or her 'brilliant' project idea

Remy stormed across the room and grabbed Kitty's notebook out of her hands, ignoring her surprised yelp as he ripped out the page and threw the notebook back into her lap forcefully.

"Dat's **MY** life, _Chaton_. Y' got **no** right!" He crumpled the paper into a tight ball, tossing it into the fireplace as he stormed out of the room.

"Remy, wait!" Rogue called out desperately from behind him.

"I'm goin' out f' a smoke. **Don't** follow me," he called back to her.

He was grateful he'd left his coat downstairs as he marched out the main entrance and down the front steps. He stopped at the bottom, relieved to find that Rogue had honored his wishes and remained inside. His temper may not be as quick as hers, but it certainly could be fierce, and at that moment, he wanted to hit something. Hard. He didn't like the possibility of that 'something' being Rogue.

He turned to the stone wall that bordered the front steps and slammed his fist into it forcefully. Instantly he felt the skin on his knuckles burst open, and the sharp pain in his hand began radiating up his arm. It felt good. This was a pain he was comfortable dealing with, unlike the Pandora's box that Rogue had opened up.

He didn't pretend not to remember what his early life had been like, and it would have been silly to do so. He just didn't dwell on it. The first half of his life had been tiring, lonely, and extremely painful. It was a constant fight for survival, and maybe as early as five years old, he'd begun to wonder whether it was really worth it, the struggle to make it to the next day.

Remy took a cigarette and an antique lighter out of his pocket, igniting the cig and placing it in his mouth. He took a long, slow drag, letting the nicotine spread through his system like a calming wave. Somewhere inside of him, he'd always had a strong sense of self-preservation. Somehow, it had been enough to keep his dire thoughts at bay. That's what you had to do in that type of situation: look out for yourself. Because there was no one else to do it. No one else to give a damn about whether you lived or died.

Of course, that strong sense of self-preservation also had a downside. Isolation, loneliness, an inability to trust, selfishness, and a callousness that made it hard to see value in the needs of others… these were all side-effects. And if he was completely honest with himself, he'd never really gotten over it.

Deciding this was a dangerous path for his thoughts to wander, he took another deep drag of his cigarette and cleared his mind. Rogue. He could think of Rogue. Part of him wanted to say that she had no right to pester him about his past. It was his, and he had a right to it, no one else. Another part of him knew it was unfair to judge her. He was forming a life with her, he'd given her his heart, and more importantly, he had shared with her the very basic details of his childhood already. It was natural for her to be curious. It was the fact that she'd brought it up with strangers that was the most damning. But really, given all the crap she put up with from him, he'd be a fool to hold it against her. '_You're going to let this one slide, Remy'_, he told himself as he smoked, '_because you love her, and when it comes to the forgiveness count, you're seriously trailing behind_.'

"Remy?"

Her cautious voice floated down from her position behind him at the top of the steps. He sighed, examining the dying embers on what little was left of his cigarette. His anger was dying with them. He tossed the stub to the side with a quick flick of his wrist.

"Y' can come talk t' me now, _Chére_. I won' bite no more."

He turned to face her as she descended towards him, stopping at the bottom step so they were almost eye to eye. She was hesitant, her eyes fixed on her hands as she wrung them together nervously in front of him. "Remy, I'm… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

He cut her off quickly. "No, Rogue, _I'm _sorry. I lost m' temper, an' I shouldn't have done dat. I didn't mean t' yell at y'."

She looked up at him. "No, I deserved it. I shouldn't have been askin' ya about yer past. I know ya don't like ta talk about it. I'm just… I'm interested, ya know?" She reached up and gently brushed back his long bangs from in front of his eyes. Any anger he might have been holding would have disappeared completely with that action. It melted his heart every time. "It's a part of you. But I understand if ya're not ready ta share it, if ya're never ready. I hope ya will, eventually, 'cause I just want ta understand everything you've been through. I want ta understand _you_. But you got a right to yer past, like ya said. I won't push ya."

For a moment, Remy thought about mentioning her sharing things with Kitty, but wisely decided to drop it. The argument had gone far enough. He smiled back at her.

"_Merci_."

They shared a comfortable silence for a moment before Rogue looked down at his hand, intrigued.

"Since when do ya use a lighter?"

He realized suddenly that he had been unconsciously playing with the lighter in his left hand, flipping it open and closing it again, over and over. He must have subconsciously picked up on the action during his time with Pyro.

"Oh, uh," he stumbled. "I found it in one o' m' pockets. Forgot it was in dere. Took it as a souvenir on a job in Boston when I was a pup, don't remember 'xactly when… I just like it, I guess." He shut the lighter with a distinctive snap and placed it back in his pocket.

"Huh."

Fortunately, Rogue didn't push the subject further. Unfortunately, she wasn't the only one who noticed his change in behavior.

Two days later, Logan kept him back after the team Danger Room session.

"Alright, you kids get off to school. Gumbo, stick around for a sec. I need to talk to ya." The other mutants gave Remy sympathetic looks as they filed out; when the Wolverine decided you needed to talk, it was rarely a good thing. Remy stood silently, waiting for the room to empty, his shirt soaked with sweat and his side hurting more than he cared to let on. It was his first day back training since his accident, and even though Logan had kept the session light, he was definitely feeling the effects of both his injury and the near month of downtime.

Once all the students had left, Logan turned to him, his arms folded over his chest.

"You wanna tell me what's goin' on, kid?"

Remy glared back defiantly. "Got no idea what y' talkin' 'bout, Wolvie." Truthfully, he had a pretty good idea.

Logan rolled his eyes. "Did ya think I won't notice? You didn't use your powers once in that whole training simulation. I've been watchin' ya for a while now. You haven't blown anything up since you were attacked. You gonna tell me why not?"

Remy scoffed. "It's not a parlor trick, Logan. Jus' cuz I can do it, don't mean I need t'. Somet'ings are best done da ol'-fashion way. Jus' easier."

"Right," Logan stated sarcastically. "So you're tellin' me that takin' out six robotic ninjas, by yourself, using hand-to-hand combat, on your first day back from a _stabbing_ is 'easier' than just blowing them up from twenty feet away?"

"Yeah," Remy replied morosely. Okay, so maybe this argument was going to be harder to sell than he thought.

Logan chuckled sardonically. "Alright then, Cajun, if you really got no problem with it, why don't you just blow something up right now? Pull out one of your damn cards or something."

Remy glared at him. "Like I said, it ain't a parlor trick."

"Oh come on, Gumbo, it'll be fun." A sadistic smile was starting to form on Logan's lips. "Hey, I got an idea." Suddenly, he unsheathed his claws with their trademark 'shnikt'. "Let's see what happens when you charge these babies up."

Remy's eyes widened in horror. "No."

"Geez, kid, with all the crap you give me, I thought you'd be jumping at the chance to blow me up." His eyes flashed wickedly. "Let's see how long it takes for all my bits and pieces to come crawlin' back. It'll be like one of those zombie movies you and Stripes love so much."

"No!"

Logan retracted his claws, wiping the smile from his face. "Kid, we ain't going anywhere 'till you either blow something up or tell me what the hell is going on."

"Not'ings goin' on," Remy snapped, "so jus' leave me da hell alone!"

He turned on his heel and marched out of the Danger Room as fast as his aching side would let him. As he raced towards the elevator, he could sense Logan close behind. He took little consolation in the fact that he made it into the elevator alone; Logan would simply take the stairs. Sure enough, as soon as he exited the elevator and began climbing his way up the main staircase, Logan was at his heel.

"We ain't done talkin', Gumbo."

"Yes we are!"

Remy stormed into his room, slamming the door noisily behind him. He heard Logan growl from the other side as he threw himself down on his bed, crossing his arms hotly.

"Damn it, Cajun!"

"Go away!" he shouted back. He wondered if he was coming across as much like a petulant child as he felt.

Logan burst in the door. "I just got through this stage with Jubilee, so don't you be startin' this shit up."

"Leave m' alone!"

"Remy…" Logan growled threateningly.

"Fine!" he shouted, jumping off the bed and retrieving his packet of smokes from the bedside table. He took a cigarette out and charged the end with the tip of his finger before putting it in his mouth. "Dere… Y' happy now?"

"Once you take that thing outside, I will be."

Remy took the cig out of his mouth and blew his smoke out slowly, flipping Logan the bird as he examined his cigarette with sudden interest.

Logan sighed irritably. "We ain't done here, kid. Sooner or later, you're gonna have to talk to me." With that, he turned and left the room, leaving Remy to sulk by himself.

As soon as the door was closed, Remy went to the window and opened it. He stubbed out the cigarette on the sill before tossing it out the window. He hadn't actually been in the mood for a smoke, and his lungs were still raw from the morning's training.

It hadn't been a conscious decision, not really, not at first. But the truth was, he was tired of being a mutant, and after so much time had passed without him using his powers while he was in recovery, it just seemed like a good idea to keep it that way. Of course, logically he knew that not using his powers would not make him any less of a mutant. Hell, his demon eyes were the marker that pegged him for discrimination, and there was nothing he could do about that. But as silly as his actions were, part of him didn't care. His damn powers had been nothing but trouble, from the very beginning. Sure, they sometimes came in handy. It certainly made him a better thief. But really all that meant was that he was a better tool to used by his father. No, in the end, his mutation was nothing more than a curse.

Bobby had stated many times that he thought Remy's powers were "like, _totally_ cool", but all that happened to Bobby when his powers manifested was that he got a little frostbite. When Remy's powers manifested, he'd nearly blown his damn hand off.

It was so new, so unexpected. A fire unlike anything he'd ever known had engulfed his whole arm, and when he looked down at his hand, he had felt his heart stop in horror. The single playing card he'd been holding had disappeared completely. In it's place was something like out of a war movie. All the flesh had been blasted off his right hand and part of his forearm, the red, raw tissue underneath exposed. The muscle oozed blood, a deep rich red that mixed with the blackened tissue that was singed around his fingernails. How ironic that his hand now matched his eyes. He tried to scream, but the pain and fear had seized his lungs, and he was trapped in horrific silence. His father, alerted by the explosion, had burst into his room and immediately scooped him up, his own shock somehow triggering him into action. He was rushed to the Guild's private clinic and right away put under for an entire two months. It couldn't be risked that he would awake and blow up his bandages before his skin grafts had begun to heal.

Three years. Three years he'd been off the streets, and had been afforded a somewhat sense of comfort, of peace. Just enough time to realize what it meant to be young, what he was _supposed _to be. Enough time for him to begin to forget for a few short moments each day what kind of so-called life he had thought he would be forever doomed to, and begin to accept the somewhat normality of his new surroundings as familiar. Three short, measly, insignificant years. That was all he got. Three years of happiness before it all went to hell again.

The years of training to reach full control, his tragic overload, Sinister, a life-time of persecution and segregation, and now, some stupid late-night stabbing… it was all too much. He'd had enough. Sure, looking back, his recent stabbing seriously paled in comparison to everything else he'd been through because of his mutation, but it was the straw that broke the camel's back.

He could understand why someone like Xavier would be proud of being a mutant. What was the worst thing that could happen to a telepath… a bad headache? Mutants like Xavier had it easy, and that's why he could dream of such silly and pointless things as a peaceful and understanding existence between mutants and humans. Remy saw very little value in the fight. He was here for Rogue, and maybe because a part of him yearned to be a part of something that, while fruitless, was, at the very least, honorable. But in his mind, Xavier's was nothing more than a pipe dream. Hell, he hated his own mutation, so how could he expect any less from baseline humans?

Since he'd joined with the X-men, things had for the most part been quiet, and his faith in the Professor really hadn't been put to the test. The closest he'd come to having to put his life on the line for the cause was to help Logan and Storm break up the occasional scuffle between a human and a mutant, the likes of which usually amounted to a few weak punches and a lot of drunken name-calling.

He only had to wait three days for Logan to exact his revenge for the whole no-talking/temper-tantrum incident. Remy was enlisted to join Logan in accompanying the Professor at his lecture in New York City. While there had been no major anti-mutant uprisings since Apocalypse, Xavier was still one the major faces of the mutant rights campaign, and as such, was a target for retaliation. Usually Storm or Beast would join with Logan to serve as protection for the Professor, and Remy was grateful, seeing as the last place he'd like to spend his time was in a boring lecture hall. But as they say, payback is a bitch, and Logan was not one to let sleeping dogs lie.

Remy was thankful that they took the Blackbird, cutting their travel time down to less than a half an hour, as opposed to the almost two hours it could sometimes take to reach the city with traffic. The less time he had to spend on this so-called 'mission', the better. As they began disembarking the plane, Logan stopped him.

"Take the sunglasses off, kid."

Remy immediately tensed up. He always wore his sunglasses out in public. Nearly twenty years of gasping women and crying children had gotten old.

"No. Why?"

Logan stepped towards him. "Because," he said, as he unsheathed his claws, "we're here today as mutants. Take 'em off."

Remy hesitated for a moment, but finally, he took the glasses off with an irritated growl. 'We're here as mutants'. In other words, they were supposed to be muscle, Xavier's bodyguards. It wasn't the first time his eyes had been used for intimidation. Jean-Luc frequently brought him along on contract negotiations with unfriendly clients. He still hated it every time.

He walked back into the plane and tossed his sunglasses on his seat. When he returned to the ramp, he found Logan and the Professor staring at each other in silence, which could only mean they were having a mental conversation. That was never a good thing.

After a moment, Logan turned and looked up to Remy. "Leave the gloves, too."

Remy's heart froze. "What?! No!"

Logan stepped towards him menacingly. "Leave 'em, Gumbo, or your ass will be stuck in the Danger Room at 5am every morning for the next two weeks."

Remy glared at him in frustration for a few moments before giving up with a disgruntled "Fine!". He peeled off his gloves and tossed them back inside the plane. "Can we go now? I just wanna get dis damn t'ing ova' wit'…"

He crossed his arms angrily as they made their way inside the lecture hall, his right hand securely hidden under his other arm. '_Next time they ask me to do this, I'm playing sick. I'll fake leprosy, or something…_'

Despite his discomfort at losing his security blankets, the job was fairly easy. All he and Logan had to do, the latter still keeping his claws exposed, was stand on either side of the stage, looking dangerous. The Professor's speech was as boring as Remy had predicted. 'We're all equal', 'a peaceful coexistence', a few historical comparisons and medical research… the usual rigmarole. After twenty minutes, Remy tuned him out, turning his attention to the crowd in front of him. The lecture hall was surprisingly full, considering it was the middle of a weekday, most of the audience consisting of middle aged men and women, professionally dressed, a few taking notes. As his eyes scanned the group in front of him, something unusual suddenly caught Remy's eyes.

Sitting about ten rows back was a small boy, and he was staring straight at Remy. In the middle of a group of adults, the child stood out like a sore thumb. Remy was horrible with ages, but the kid looked like he might be old enough that he should have been in school. But instead, he was sitting in a lecture hall in New York, huddled close to a woman whose deep red hair, the same exact shade as the boy's spiky mane, indicated her as his mother. And he was staring at Remy unrelentingly.

This irked him to the core. Why the hell had Logan insisted that he keep his eyes uncovered? This was the exact thing he was trying to avoid. He tried glaring at the little boy, hoping he would look away, start crying, _anything. _Instead, he just continued to stare, his eye line locked and unmoving.

Remy suppressed an irritated groan. What was wrong with this kid? And what was wrong with his mother?! What kind of parent lets their kid sit there and gawk at a stranger's disfigurement? It was just plain rude. He would bet that a million dollars that the little snot-nosed brat was the kind of kid who stared and pointed at people in wheelchairs. '_Just wait 'till Xavier comes out from behind the podium, then it'll be __**his**__ turn_', Remy thought cantankerously. After another half hour of enduring the obnoxious kid's scrutiny, he was beginning to think that Logan's 5am Danger Room sentence might have been a better option.

As soon as the Professor finished his speech, Remy was ready to bolt for the door. Unfortunately, several audience members made their way up to the stage to introduce themselves to Xavier, and a small line was forming. Remy sighed. They were going to be there for a while. He closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt the beginnings of a tension headache forming. Suddenly, he felt a soft tug on his pant leg. He opened his eyes and looked down.

To his shock and dismay, that same little boy who had been staring at him for the better part of an hour was now standing at his feet. He looked up at Remy expectantly.

"Um, mister?"

Remy tried to suppress his irritation. Logan had said he wanted him to use his powers, but he doubted that the feral man would be very pleased if he used them to charge up the kid's shoelaces.

"Whad'ya wan', _petite_?"

The boy paused for a moment, most likely thrown by Remy's accent. "Um… are you a mutant?"

His question struck Remy as ironically funny, and he found himself chuckling lightly. The kid had been gawking at his eyes for the entire lecture, and he was still wondering if he was a mutant?

He smiled lopsidedly at the boy. "Do _you_ t'ink I am?"

The boy scrunched his face in deep thought, and Remy chuckled again. "Yeah, I think you are!" the boy finally responded.

"Den y' be correct, _garçon_."

The boy looked down sheepishly for a moment before looking back up at Remy.

"Can I see your eyes?"

Normally, the question would have annoyed Remy, but the innocence in which the young boy asked compelled him to comply. He crouched down, his tall frame coming to rest at eye level with the child. Remy was taken aback when the boy's eyes widened, not in shock or fear, but in adoring fascination.

"Wow."

It was then that Remy noticed the boy's own eyes. They were big, round pools of clear green, so similar to Rogue's that his heart ached just a little at seeing them. The one difference, though, was that this boy's eyes sparkled. Literally, they **sparkled**. He hadn't noticed it from far away, but up close, the boy's eyes shimmered, as if there were a hundred tiny diamonds embedded in them, catching some imaginary light and reflecting it off in a radiant, colorful display. It was mesmerizing, and quite frankly, it was the most magnificent thing Remy had ever seen.

The boy suddenly spoke up, breaking him from his trance. "Your eyes are really cool!"

Remy smiled. "I like y' eyes, too."

The small boy practically beamed at the compliment. "Thanks!" He suddenly stuck his tiny hand out. "I'm Jason. What's your name?"

Remy laughed at the boy's antics, reaching out to shake the his hand. "'m Remy."

Jason's gaped excitedly. "Like Ratatouille?!"

"Uh, sure." Remy had no idea what the kid was talking about.

"That's my mom, her name is Marcy." The boy pointed over to where his mother stood, talking with the Professor. "She's gonna ask that guy to help me go to school. Is he your boss?"

"Well… sort of." Remy responded. "What do you mean, he's gonna help y' go t' school?"

"They won't let me," Jason answered, his smile disappearing. "I got to go to Kindergarten one time, but the teacher said I couldn't come back because I was a mutant. She didn't like my eyes."

Remy frowned. This boy had the eyes of an angel. How could anyone look at him and see anything but a beautiful, innocent child? He could understand the prejudice he himself had endured; after all, he had the eyes of the devil. But this child… he shouldn't have to go through life with that same pain, that same feeling of inferiority. It just wasn't right.

"I had to be home-schooled all this year, and it was _boring_. I wish I could just go to school with my friends," Jason continued. "That's why my mom is asking that man to help us. She says that maybe I can go to school next year."

"Yeah," Remy responded absent-mindedly. He was watching Xavier intently as he conversed with Jason's mom. She was handing him several papers. That seemed to be a good sign.

"Wow," Jason exclaimed excitedly, calling back his attention, "what wrong with your hand?"

Remy looked down, suddenly noticing that he was no longer hiding his hand. Jason was examining the mess of scars and ugly texture of his skin grafts with fascination.

"I, uh… I blew it up," he responded hesitantly. "Dat's what happened when I got m' powers."

"Really?!" Jason was supremely interested. "What are your powers?"

"I can charge da potential kinetic energy in any inorganic object."

Jason stared at him with blank confusion.

"I make t'ings go boom." Remy amended.

Jason eyes lit up. "Neat! I don't have any powers yet, but I hope I can do something cool like that!"

"It's not dat 'cool', _petite_," Remy warned. "Dese powers have given m' a lot o' trouble. Mos' times, I wish I didn't even have 'em."

Jason thought about this for a moment, his tiny face scrunched in confusion. "But…" he started, "if you didn't have your powers, you wouldn't be as special."

Remy shrugged. "Maybe. But maybe I don' wanna be special. Maybe I jus' wanna be normal."

"Hmmm…" Jason hummed as he bit his lip in concentration. After a moment, his face relaxed, his brilliant eyes shining even brighter. "I think I just want to be me."

Remy stared at the child in wonder. This boy, so innocent, so full of hope… he shouldn't have to live the life that Remy had. He shouldn't have to experience any of the pain, the isolation. This boy deserved better.

At that moment, Jason's mom approached them, putting a hand on her son's shoulders. "Sweetie, it's time to go. Say goodbye to your friend."

Jason turned to Remy. "Bye, Remy!"

"_Au revoir, petite_." Remy held out his fist, and Jason excitedly bumped it with his own before turning and scampering away with his mother.

"Mom, mom, did you see his eyes?!" he heard Jason say as he walked away. Remy laughed as he straightened back up. That kid was a freak. The only other person he knew who actually _liked_ his eyes was Rogue, and he thought she was a freak as well.

As he waited for the crowd that surrounded the Professor to dissipate, Remy thought back on Jason's situation. It wasn't fair. He himself had had a crappy childhood, but that didn't mean that this child should have to endure the same. Jason was proud of his mutation, and Remy couldn't see any reason for him not to be. His eyes were dazzling. Yes, they were different, but that only made him, as Jason had pointed out, special. The boy should have the chance to be everything he wanted to be. He should have everything that Remy had been denied.

He remained silent, deep in thought, as he, the Professor, and Logan finally made their way back to the Blackbird. As Logan sat behind the cockpit, Remy turned to the Professor.

"Are you gonna help dat kid? Da one who's mom y' were talkin' to."

Xavier smiled. "Ah, yes, the Richmond boy. He and his mother drove all the way out from Connecticut to see me today. Yes, his case seems to be a clear violation of his Constitutional Rights. Once I've gone over the details of his situation, I will arrange a meeting with the school board in his district."

Remy pondered this for a moment. "I t'ink I'd like t' come wit' y'… if dat's okay."

Xavier nodded. "Of course. I think that's a fine idea."

Remy nodded in return, thinking back once again on Jason, and how different he was from his own five-year-old self. The stark comparison seemed right, fitting. This child would not walk the path he had tread, not if Remy could do something about it.

Maybe he wasn't ready to take on the fate of the entire mutant community upon his shoulders, but he could handle this one child. One mutant, that could be his dream. Just one step on the road towards letting go of the past, towards making things right.

* * *

So, the little ditty about Remy blowing Logan up and his bits and pieces crawling back to him is all from **Tamarai**. I got my Anti-Plagerism t-shirt on, people, and I'm wearing it with pride!

* * *

So, I've decided: I don't actually like torturing my readers. I thought I'd feel all happy and proud with leaving people wanting more after Chapter 6's less than happy ending, but in reality, my heart ached every time someone wrote a review saying "Oh no! What's going to happen to Remy!". And then, with my good-hearted tease of a review-request last chapter, I ended up feeling completely guilty with every first-time review I got. Seriously!! I was just trying to be cute, people, I promise!

I'm not kidding you, the guilt has been eating me up inside all week. I'm not built for this. No more teasing!!

So, now I feel guilty even _asking_ for reviews. So don't review! Wait, but I do **want** you to review, but only if **you** want to. So, please **want **to, but if you don't, like, no pressure! I'm a cucumber, kiddos, as in 'cool as a'. It's all up to you. I won't push you. I'll just be sitting here, waiting, patiently, hoping that somewhere deep in your heart you have at least a miniscule desire to leave me a note, at least a tiny one, just a little somethin' somethin'...

Crap, am I coming off too desperate now? Yeah, I'm just going to shut up now.


	11. Unexpected Guests

**Disclaimer: So RavenDove84 is writing this awesome little fic in movieverse called 'Homework', and in his/her disclaimer, s/he does this little ditty about how s/he owns one of those 7-11 XO:W Gambit cups, but that's the extent of his/her ownership of Marvel. I think that's so clever. I wanna say that! Except, I don't even own a cup. Huh. Well, I do own.... uh... oh wait, I got it, I own X-men 2 on DVD! But not Marvel, or it's characters...**

So, this chapter is all late, but it's coming without apologies! That's right, you heard me. See, it wasn't my schedule or my lameness that caused the delay, it was just the darn chapter. I had such a vague idea about what I wanted to do here that when it came time to write the sucker, I really had to sit down and make some character decisions and whatnot... basically, this chapter just took some more time on my part. So... no apologies, because without the wait, the chapter would have been crap!

On that note, however, a warning for future chapters: expect more along this timeline for summer. The break from school is great for all you kids and college students, but for a mom with a special needs preschooler, the end of school marks the beginning of chaos. You know, for 3 months. So things may take a bit longer. But I totally appreciate all of your support with this story, I seriously do have the best reviewers, you all really make me push myself to put out the best stuff I can... it's all for you, baby!

**Reviewer Quote of the WeeK:**

_"I want ta understand you." - You can always absorb him. Just sayin'. _**Cartoonfire**, you had me cracking up once again. [sarcasm]Awesome relationship advice. [/sarcasm]

**This chapter is dedicated to the incomparable _RandiRogue_, who inspired it with this suggestion: **_Remy finding Rogue in a compromising position, and her without a good or reasonable explanation. _Ok, so I'm taking a bit of liberty with the second half of that sentence... (side note: I'd love more suggestions. Not that I can promise to use them all, but a lot of suggestions have prompted things in this story, especially my conduit elements. So, suggest away!)

**

* * *

Chapter 11: Unexpected Guests**

Remy LeBeau was more than accustomed to attempted robberies. There was something about the idea of stealing from a Master Thief that seemed to draw people in like a moth to the flame. It was an irresistible challenge.

Stupid 'normal' people.

They never got away with it. For one thing, they always gave themselves away before the 'heist' took place. After all, such a task would require planning, and that inevitably led to a surge in thinly-veiled glances in his direction. Major tip-off. Remy would take that as his cue to up the security in his room, seeing as that was only logical place he could be hit.

Of course, sometimes it was more fun just to let them in.

Jubilee and Tabitha had conspired to steal a pair of his boxer briefs, and were surprised and delighted when their plan seemed to go off without a hitch. With very little effort they had removed the hinges from his door and stolen the underwear while he was out drinking with Logan one night. Having replaced the door, they had figured they'd been successful. That is, until they awoke the next morning. Not only was the pair of pilfered briefs missing from its hiding place under Boom-Boom's mattress, but _every _single pair of underwear that both young ladies owned had disappeared from their drawers. Gone without a trace.

Bobby had decided to go it alone, breaking in through Remy's window after scaling the outside wall with a rope he had secured from the roof, his mission being to pinch the Cajun's beloved and trademark trench coat while he was training alone in the Danger Room. Bobby was disappointed to find the coat missing, and after exiting the room via ice-slide (why he hadn't used his powers to get _up_ to the window in the first place was beyond anyone's comprehension), he had discovered his own beloved, and newly acquired, leather jacket sitting squarely in the middle of his room, encased in a three foot block of ice. Remy thought the irony of that particular payback was notably clever.

But of all the inhabitants of the mansion, the last person he expected to find in his room, fishing around in the pockets of his coat, was Rogue. And this invasion of his privacy held none of the humor that the others had. In fact, it wasn't funny at all.

"What da hell do y' t'ink y' doin', _Chére_?"

Rogue remained completely still, frozen like a deer in the headlights, leaning over his bed with her hand still inside his coat pocket as she looked up to where he stood in the doorway.

"Remy, I… uh," she fumbled, "I thought ya were gonna do a Danger Room session…"

"I _was_…" he stated dangerously, slowly walking towards her still frozen form, "but when I got down dere, Wolvie had Sam an' Roberto doin' time f' punishment, so I came back up here." He stopped by her side. "So now I'll ask y' again: What da hell are y' doing?"

Rogue, still wide-eyed in shock and panic, gaped at him like a drowning fish. "I… uh… I was…"

Remy groaned in frustration, no longer patient enough to hear whatever lie she was going to come up with. He grabbed the covered wrist that protruded from his coat and pulled her hand out of the proverbial cookie jar. His eyes shot back up to hers as he beheld what she had clutched in her hand: his cell phone.

"Remy," she trembled, "it's not what ya think."

"No?" he asked, glaring at her. "So y' didn't wait until I was gone, break into m' room, and den go searchin' around in m' pockets so y' could steal m' phone?"

Rogue looked down sheepishly. "Ok, so maybe it **is** what ya think. Well, except for the 'breakin' in' part, because ya gave me a key-"

"T' use when y' had permission!" He interjected.

"Right," she amended with guilt in her eyes. "And I wasn't goin' ta _steal _the phone, just… borrow it for a bit. I was gonna return it before ya got back!"

Remy scoffed, taking the phone from her grasp and releasing her wrist. "So, what, now y' spyin' on me? Y' don't _trust _me?"

"No, it's not that, Remy! I wasn't spyin', I just needed ta find a phone number!"

He smirked at her smugly. "Well, I don' save m' contacts on m' phone, Rogue, an' I keep m' call history clear." A thief never leaves a trail, after all.

"Yeah, well, that was Plan A…" Rogue admitted shamefully, staring at her shoes.

"An' Plan B?" he questioned. He was dangerously close to losing his cool.

"Kitty was goin' ta hack into yer simcard."

That did it. His 'cool' was officially lost.

"**DAMN IT**, Rogue! How **dare **you?! Y' talkin' 'bout me behind m' back wit' _Kitty_, **again**! Y' got no right t' do dis, invading' m' privacy-"

"Remy, I'm sorry!" she pleaded, "When yer brother called, he hung up before he said when he was comin', and we've been tryin' for two days-"

"**SHUT UP**, Rogue! I don' wanna hear y' excuses, you-" Suddenly, Remy stopped, her words sinking in. "Wait, did y' say my brot'er called y'?"

"Yes!" she said, her voice shaking and unshed tears pooling in her eyes as the words spilled out of her frantically. "I don't know how he got my number, but he called my cell and said he was comin' up on business an' he was gonna surprise ya, so he wanted ta make sure ya weren't out of town on a mission or somethin', but he hung up before he said when exactly he was comin', and Kitty an' I have been tryin' for two days ta find a number for the Guild, but you know _that's _impossible, so we thought maybe ya'd have it in yer phone, and I'm sorry to sneak around on ya, but it was supposed ta be a surprise, and-"

Suddenly, he broke into her desperate rant, picking her up unexpectedly and swinging her around gleefully before planting her back on the ground.

"_Mon frére _is comin', I can't believe it!" He exclaimed, his face beaming. A joyful chuckle escaped his lips. "Wow. Henri's really comin'."

"Remy?" Her small, trembling voice brought him back down to earth as he turned to see her tear-filled eyes and quivering lip.

"Oh!" Immediately, he pulled her into his arms. "_Je suis désolé, ma Chérie. _It's okay, 'm not mad." He gently placed a kiss on top of her head. "'m sorry I yelled at y'." A thought hit him as the situation sunk in. "_Merde_. I gotta get dis place ready!"

"Wait, what?" Rogue was clearly still two steps behind as Remy inexplicably released her from his grasp and headed towards the door.

"Security, _Chére_!" he called back as he practically skipped out of his room. "Henri might not be as good a t'ief as y' man here, but even _he _could break in dis place wit' little effort." With that, he bounded into the hall, leaving a stunned and still somewhat confused Rogue in his wake.

Remy would have never believed in the idea of unconditional love (and he probably would have lost faith in the concept later) if he hadn't met Henri LeBeau. Most likely he would have never believed in such notions as fate or family, either. But as much as he hated that damn prophesy, Remy could never deny his faith that, beyond anything, Henri LeBeau was truly destined to be his brother. And if that prophesy had been the means by which they were brought together, then perhaps there was some value in it after all.

Some memories from his childhood were clearer than others, but Remy could remember the day he was brought home for the first time as if it had happened yesterday. The car ride from New Orleans' French Quarter to the Guild's estate outside of town had been long and filled with apprehensive silence. Remy had never ridden in a car before, and as a scrawny, underfed 10-year-old, he had felt as if even the seatbelt that was uncomfortably strapped across him would not keep him from bouncing around the seemingly vast interior of the town car. The unfamiliar hum of the engine had seemed like the menacing roar of a lion to his untrained ears. But most unnerving was the man that sat in the passenger seat next to him: the King of Thieves.

Remy had been caught trying to pick Jean-Luc's pocket, and seeing as Fagen's gang was, to a certain extent, under the rule of the Thieves Guild, his unintentional slight on the man could be seen as an act of treason. For some reason beyond his young mind's comprehension, instead of being hung from the gallows, he was being offered a home, and Remy couldn't shake the feeling that this had to be a trap. Throughout the journey, he would steal fleeting glances at the man, who sat perfectly still, looking ahead, his face serious and unreadable. It was unsettling. For the young boy, children were easier to understand; if they meant you harm or malice, it usually showed on their expressions. But adults were a different story. Remy often found their behavior perplexing and hard to predict. And he had also learned, too many times in his young life, that people, most especially adults, never offered up something good without expecting something in return. Everything has a price.

By the time they had reached the LeBeau mansion, Remy had been too filled with anxious terror to marvel at the opulence and sheer size of the place he was to call his home. As soon as he was released from the car's safety restraints, he had nearly acted on his impulse to bolt until Jean-Luc's hard, rigid hand clamped down upon his shoulder and led him inside.

Upon entering, Remy had been expecting an ambush, a firing squad, or _something_ along those lines. What he had not been expecting was Henri.

He stood leaning against the banister at the bottom of the grand staircase in the elegant foyer. At 18, he was much taller than Remy, as well as being sturdier, his build more of stocky muscles than Remy's lanky, wiry form. He might have made for an intimidating sight if not for the warm and inviting gleam in his baby blue eyes, only slightly hidden behind a shag of auburn hair. Upon taking in the sight of the disheveled, malnourished waif his father had ushered inside their home, a friendly smile swept across his face with a familiar ease.

"Henri," Jean-Luc announced, "this is Remy. He's going to be staying with us for a while."

Henri stepped forward and crouched down in front of Remy, coming to rest at the young boy's eye line. He reached out and placed his hands upon Remy's shoulders, and instantly with the weight of the gesture, he felt his previous anxiety lift from his body and float skyward, like an abandoned balloon. Henri's smile broadened as he gave Remy a playful wink.

"Welcome home, _petit frére_."

The next few days were spent frantically preparing the Institute for Henri's arrival. Both Logan and the Professor had denied Remy's request to completely rework the Manor's security system. Begrudgingly he was forced to make do with adding new sensors to the current schematic, which, in Remy's opinion, was completely disorganized and lacking any sensible logic. Rogue made it clear that she thought the entire thing was downright stupid. She voiced her opinion several times that the traditional 'catch me if you can' game the Thieves insisted on playing was both pointless and childish. Remy didn't care. He'd never be able to live it down if his brother was able to sneak in without even breaking a sweat. If he had it his way and was given free reign with the Institute's security, Henri wouldn't even be making it past the front gate before getting caught.

The evenings were spent lounging on his bed with Rogue in his arms, recounting the highlights of almost 10 years of shenanigans between the LeBeau boys; The first time Henri took him to the bar in the Guild's part of town and got him staggering-drunk at the tender age of 12, the years of pranks they tortured their poor, defenseless cousins with, the stupid romantic stunts Remy helped his brother stage in order to woo Mercy…

Despite their age difference, Henri had latched onto Remy from the moment he joined the family, taking him under his wing and protecting him like both a guardian and a best friend. Henri liked to joke that he had always wanted a pet, but Tante Mattie confided in Remy that she believed the older boy had always had an empty place in his heart just waiting for Remy to fill. For Remy, being at Henri's side filled him with that comfortable sense of Home that he had never known before and desperately missed when it was away, and while his own fear of rejection caused him to frequently push away from the bond he shared with his brother, it was always a relief when Henri, in his patience and wisdom, would pull him back in. They were inseparable.

Rogue couldn't get enough of the tales of their mischief. And as Remy recounted his most cherished childhood memories, his own laughter mixing with hers, he felt the memories take on new emotion, growing in the depth of their joy and significance as he shared them with the woman he loved, encasing her in his arms. Suddenly, he couldn't wait for the two most important people in his life to meet one another.

But as the days passed, he began to lose hope that the meeting would ever happen.

After four days of waiting, Remy was sure that something had gone wrong and his brother was no longer coming. If Henri were to risk coming to see him while in exile, he would be doing it alone. Rogue had said he had called two days before she let it slip to Remy, and solo missions were never planned that far in advance.

On the morning of what Remy counted as the seventh day, he officially let go of all hope of his brother's visit. It wasn't going to happen. For almost a week he had been filled with giddy excitement, like a kid awaiting Christmas morning, and the weight of the disappointment felt heavy on his heart.

As he sat perched on a barstool at the edge of the island, he concentrated on the blackness of his coffee, drowning out the morning bustle as the students readied themselves for school. He was broken out of the trance of his sulk as a pair of slender arms wrapped around him from behind. He felt Rogue rest her chin on his shoulder as he continued to stare into his mug.

"I'm sorry, Sugah," she cooed gently into his ear, her tone soft enough for only him to hear. "I know ya were really lookin' forward ta him comin'."

"'m fine…" he mumbled unconvincingly, barely acknowledging her presence.

"Okay, baby." She tilted her head down, gently pressing a tender kiss onto his covered shoulder before slowly slipping her arms out from around him and heading off to school with the rest of the younger students.

He tried his best not to brood, but seeing as he had a tendency to be moody, it was hard to keep himself out of a funk. When neither physical training nor academic studying did much to keep his mind off his disappointment, he gave in, deciding it was reasonable to allow himself one day to mope about the mansion. He spent the late morning and early afternoon draped across one of the plush couches in the rec room, eating junk food (an activity he decided that he simply didn't have the stomach for) and watching day-time talk shows with the mild disinterest of a coma patient. Somewhere along the line he dozed off, his body sleep deprived from the late nights he had lain awake in excited anticipation.

He was dreaming about Rogue sitting in a folding chair next to him shouting something about him being a 'baby daddy' in front of a large studio audience when he was suddenly jolted awake as a great weight pinned him down further into the couch. Before he could open his eyes, he felt one of the cushions being pressed down over his face, blocking his view and slowly cutting off his oxygen. He struggled violently, his arms and legs flailing against his unknown assailant, but it was to no avail. His attacker had a good position, and with both his superior girth and the element of surprise, he had the young mutant rendered defenseless.

Remy made for one last-ditch effort to free himself from his anonymous attacker's hold as he felt himself begin to lose consciousness from the lack of oxygen. Bucking his hips up violently, he freed his legs enough to swing them up and wrap them around his attacker's head. With all the strength he had left, he pulled his legs down forcefully, throwing both himself and his assailant off the couch with the move. As they tumbled to the ground, Remy grabbed a card from his pocket in a move that had became second-nature, and with his vision still spotted over with patches of blackness, he sightlessly threw himself on top of his attacker as he lay next to him. Pinning him to the ground, he held a charged card to the man's throat as he panted, breathing deep and allowing the oxygen to flow to his brain and clear his vision once again. After what felt like an eternity, but in reality was only a mere few moments, his eye line came into focus, and he looked down to behold a pair of shining blue eyes and the biggest shit-eating grin he'd ever seen.

"Henri?"

With reality suddenly dawning on him, Remy scrambled off his brother. Henri burst out laughing as he stood up, dusting off his pants.

"Ah hell, Rems, y' oughta see y' face!" he managed to spit out between chuckles. Henri stood before Remy, his bright, square face just as he remembered it, with the exception of the trim goatee he had grown since Remy's banishment, the red tint in his facial hair only slightly more apparent than in the shaggy mop on top of his head. After any time apart, Henri always appeared to him just as he had the first time he saw him; with his broad, muscular shoulders and mile-wide smile, he was like a gentle giant, larger than life.

Remy couldn't suppress his grin as hard as he tried. "Henri, y' _bibette_, y' almos' killed me!" He jumped up and lunged at his brother, aiming to hit him square in the jaw with a right hook. Henri dodged the blow easily, grabbing his younger brother around the waist instead and pulling him back down to the ground.

"I knew y' were gettin' soft, hangin' 'round wit' dese X-babies…" Henri laughed as they wrestled.

"X-_men_, dumbass, we da X-**men**!" Remy chuckled as he tried to pin his brother to the floor.

"_Ex_-men?" Henri scoffed, locking Remy in a chokehold. "If y' ain't men no more, what exactly are y', _frére_?"

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOIN' ON HERE?!"

Both LeBeau boys froze, looking up to find Logan standing in the hall facing them, his claws extended. Remy jumped up.

"Logan," he began, pulling Henri up by his shirt collar to stand next to him. "Dis is _mon frére_, Henri."

"Your brother?" He retracted his claws. "Chuck summoned me, said you were being attacked."

Henri turned to his brother and broke out into another fit of laughter. "Y' called f' help? _Merde_, Remy, I didn't mean t' scare y'. Should I 'ave brought y' a blankie an' a bottle, instead?"

Remy scowled and shoved his brother, who continued to laugh. "I didn' call f' help!"

Logan smirked. "Xavier said ya were projecting. Loudly."

Remy opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off as the Professor wheeled in behind Logan.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, taking in the sight of before him with bewildered bemusement. "Remy, I see you have… a guest?"

Henri stifled his laughter as he straightened himself up next to Remy, reaching out to shake Xavier's hand. "Henri LeBeau, at y' service. Jus' checkin' in on _mon petit frére_, makin' sure he ain't givin' y' nice folks too much trouble."

"Ah yes, Remy mentioned he was expecting company. I assume you've come up north for work?"

Henri leaned into Remy, his voice hushed. "_Qu'est ce que ce gars sait à propos de ce que nous faisons_?"

The Professor interjected. "I'm well aware of the, ah, 'family business'."

Henri suppressed his surprise as he turned to his younger brother. "_Il parle français_?"

Remy rolled his eyes. "_Il peut lire nos pensés, espèce d'idiot_."

Xavier chuckled lightly before interrupting once more. "_En faite, Remy, je parle aussi couramment français_."

Remy paled slightly before everyone's attention was diverted as Scott bounded onto the scene, breathing heavy.

"Jean got your message, Professor. I got here as fast as I could. Where's the-" he stopped, looking around. "I thought you said there was a security breach?"

Logan chuckled. "Gumbo's brother is in town."

"Brother?" Scott turned to the older man standing next to Remy. "As in, 'Thieves Guild'?"

Henri just grinned in response. Scott sighed. "I'll go hide the good silver…"

After texting Rogue at school to inform her of Henri's arrival, the LeBeau brother's settled down in the rec room with a couple of Logan's beers.

"Alright," Henri sighed as he dropped down on one of the couches, "Let's see where dat _bâtard _got y' wit' da knife."

Remy pulled up the hem of his shirt, revealing the set of three healing scars that adorned his left side before flopping down on the opposite couch.

"Damn, dat docta' stitched y' up nice. I can barely see da marks."

Remy smirked, taking a sip of his beer. "Too bad. I hear chicks dig big, ugly scars."

Henri's face turned serious. "Why da hell didn't y' call_ pére_, Rems? He's been worried sick."

"Well, y' can tell 'im t' stop. I've upped m' training now, I ain't gonna slip up again…"

Henri scowled. "Dat ain't what he's been worried 'bout."

Remy scoffed. "Sure it ain't."

Sighing, Henri took a sip of his beer as he shook his head. "Y' know, da two o' you are jus' too similar f' y' own good…"

"An' you defend 'im too much."

"Dat's funny," Henri remarked wryly, "he accuses me o' doin' da same t'ing wit' you."

They sat for a minute, both eyeing their beers, before Remy spoke up, breaking the awkward silence.

"So what da hell took y' so long gettin' up here? Rogue said y' called her a week ago."

"I knew I shouldn'ta done dat…" Henri mumbled. "_Femmes_, eh? Never can keep a secret." He smiled. "Yeah, da job was supposed t' go down t'ree days ago, but when I saw I'd be comin' up t' y' neck o' da woods so close t' da day, it was too good t' pass up, so I got it postponed s' I could come see y' on da actual date."

Remy wrinkled his brow in confusion. "What da hell y' talkin' 'bout, _homme_?"

Henri beamed. "Y' birt'day, _petit frére_! I's today, _non_?"

Remy let out an exaggerated groan, letting his head drop back against the couch. "Henri, we haven't celebrated dat stupid t'ing f' years. I's not even m' real birt'day."

"Sure it is!" Henri leaned forward, pulling his Blackberry out of his back pocket. He punched a few buttons before holding out the phone, showing Remy the display. "See, right dere on m' calendar. March 11th. 'Remy's 20th B-day'."

Henri had decided right away that, seeing as no one knew any information on his actual birth, the day that Remy was taken into the LeBeau family would be his new 'birthday'. While the attention had always made him feel uncomfortable, deep down Remy appreciated his brother's enthusiasm.

Remy chuckled. "We don' really know if 'm twenty. Jus' because it's on y' phone don' make it real."

"How dare y' say dat," Henri scowled in mock outrage. "Everyone knows m' Blackberry is sacred. It's word 's law." He put the item back in his pocket. "An' a brought y' a present, so stop bein' such an ungrateful brat."

Remy sighed. "Y' didn't need t' do dat."

"You'll like it. Besides," he added, "it comes wit' a bit o' news dat should put a smile on dat pretty little face o' yours."

This caught Remy's attention. "What news?"

Henri grinned, satisfied that he'd piqued his brother's interest. "Like I said, it comes wit' da present, so y' jus' gonna have t' wait f' later."

Remy sat back against the couch and took a swig of his beer, trying to hold back the rising hope that the 'news' was what he had been wishing for. But there was no way the Elders would have revoked his exile. Not so soon. Still, he couldn't quite quell the small hope that Henri had come to inform him that his banishment was over. He _had_ said that the news would put a smile on his face…

Henri spent the next hour filling Remy in on the Guild business and family gossip that he had missed out on since he'd been away before they were interrupted by the noise of the students arriving home. Remy was about to call out for Rogue before he saw her image rush past the entrance to the rec room, passing by in a flurry of porcelain skin and brown and white hair. Kitty trailed behind her two seconds later, pausing to greet the brothers.

"Um, hi. You must be Henri." She glanced in the direction of Rogue's retreating form. "Rogue will, like, be down in a minute."

"Kitty!" Rogue's faint voice floated down from somewhere up above.

"Gotta go." The petite girl smiled meekly before bolting towards the stairs.

Henri chuckled, turning to his brother. "I'm guessin' dat blur dat passed t'rough here was y' girl?"

Remy laughed. "Yeah. Guess she wants t' get all prettied up f' y'."

Henri smirked. "Oh yeah, da _femmes_ always be tryin' t' make a good impression on dis _homme_."

"Oh please…" Remy scoffed. "As I recall, da _femmes _y' used t' chase always came home wit' **me**. And dat's despite da fact dat 'm eight years younger den y'."

"Yeah, well, since y' been gone, I'm da reigning LeBeau hunk, once again."

"Y' also married," Remy pointed out.

Henri winked. "Dat don' stop dem from _lookin_'."

A few minutes later, Rogue stepped shyly into the room. As Remy looked up, catching her image as she entered the room, he was rendered momentarily speechless. She looked like herself, yes, but she had updated her look in what Remy could only guess was an attempt to appear more mature for his brother. It worked. Her usual dark makeup was replaced with just a dash of natural color, her green eyes sparkling more clearly, and the rosy tint of her cheeks and lips shining through. Her hair was left down with an easy, casual wave. She wore a white button-up dress shirt he recognized as Jean's, but it looked completely different on Rogue's petite, curvy form, cinching at her slim waist and accentuating the swell of her breast as they peaked out from above the last fastened button. Her tight, dark-wash jeans and sophisticated black stiletto-heeled boots elongated her already leggy figure. Her ensemble was finished off with a pair of silk, dark green gloves. As he gaped at her like an idiot, Remy felt that careful control he had maintained for the past few months slowly slipping away. Any hints at her youth had disappeared, and what stood before him was all woman.

'_Hot damn_'.

A part of him was tempted to make her his right then and there, brother or no brother. Thankfully, for the sake of both decency and Remy's own consciousness, Henri still had his wits about him. He threw a couch pillow at his brother, whacking Remy on the head and breaking him from his trance.

"Y' gonna sit dere droolin' all day, or are y' gonna introduce me t' y' girl?"

Remy shook his head, clearing his mind of the sinful fantasies that had sprung up instantaneously. "Right, sorry." He stood up and stepped to Rogue's side, walking with her towards Henri.

"Henri, dis is Rogue. Rogue, dis is m' brot'er, Henri."

Henri took Rogue's proffered hand, kissing the back of it gallantly. "_Enchanté, ma Chérie_. I'd apologize f' _mon frére_'s lack o' manners, but 'm sure y' used t' it by now."

Rogue smiled nervously. "It's nice ta meet ya, Henri." She took her hand back before awkwardly dipping down in a semi-curtsy. Remy snorted unconsciously at the move.

Rogue glared at him. "Shut up."

"Sorry," he snickered, "_milady_."

Rogue whacked him forcefully on the arm. "Shut _up_, Remy. You said he was **Prince**."

"Hey, I'm a Prince, too, but y' never curtsied f' me before!"

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, any regality ya mighta had vanished the second ya opened that mouth o' yers."

Henri smiled, watching the exchange. "I's nice t' see y' wit' a _femme_ dat can cut y' down t' size, Rems. Now, _Chére_," he turned to address Rogue, "come have a seat wit' us. I wanna get t' know da gal dat's tamin' _mon frére_. An' no more o' dat 'Prince' shit, 'm jus' ol' Henri."

As they all turned to sit down, Remy caught Rogue by the hip, pressing her against his body for a moment.

"Y' look nice, Chére," he breathed into her ear.

She smiled up at him, taking him aback a bit with her slightly hooded eyes. "Good ta know, sugah."

As he spent the rest of the afternoon sitting at her side, Remy couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion towards Rogue. Once she lost the initial awkward nervousness, she was back to her usual, easy self, and it was clear that Henri was endeared with her. This didn't come as a surprise; Rogue had always reminded Remy a bit of Mercy. While the two differed greatly in general interests and mannerism, they shared a common spunk and tenacity, as well as the type of ingrained stubborn streak that was necessary for any woman hoping to keep up with a LeBeau. Remy found that, despite her obvious discomfort, he couldn't keep his hands off his stripe-haired beauty. As he watched her banter easily with his brother, he couldn't help but continually pull her close, placing fleeting kisses in her hair, on her shoulder, her fingers. And as Henri's earlier words floated around his head, he couldn't suppress his fantasies of Christmas Eve in New Orleans, Rogue curled up in his lap with a mug of hot cocoa in one hand, the other tangled in his hair as his cousins' laughter filled the background…

Upon the Professor's insistence, Henri stayed for dinner. It was obvious that the younger students, especially the girls, where enchanted with him. While he seriously paled in comparison to his younger brother's breathtaking features, Henri proved that Remy's charm was something that definitely ran in the family, blood or no. Remy couldn't help but laugh as his brother thrilled at the opportunity to beguile a new audience.

"So, like," *smack* "you guys are totally close," *smack* "right?"

"T'ick as t'ieves, _petite_." And there was that famous LeBeau smirk. "We be t'ick as t'ieves."

After dinner, as Henri accompanied Remy out back for his smoke, Rogue excused herself for the evening.

"I'm completely embarrassed ta have ta say this, but it _is _a school night, and I have homework, so I'm gonna have ta call it a night. Henri," she turned to the older man, offering him her hand to shake, "it was a pleasure meetin' ya finally. I can see why Remy's always talkin' about ya."

In a move that made his brother proud, Henri dismissed her hand, pulling her into a hug instead. Remy smiled as he watched the exchange from where he stood, leaning against the railing of the back porch.

"A pleasure it was, _Chére_. Hopefully I'll be seein' a lot more o' you." He smiled before lowering his voice, whispering just loud enough for Remy to still hear him. "Y' a special girl, Rogue. But m' boy dere, he as special as dey come, so y' take good care o' him, _d'accord_? Don' go breakin' 'is heart."

He released her before she could respond, smiling warmly at her. She nodded shyly before retreating back into the house.

Henri turned back to his brother, frowning at the cigarette in his hand. "Y' know, dose t'ings are gonna give y' cancer one o' dese days."

Remy scoffed. "T'anks f' da warnin', _Tante_."

Henri rolled his eyes. "Whateva', 'm jus' t'inking of all da girls dat'll be cryin' dere eyes out when dey lose dat pretty face o' yours." He sat down on the back step, slapping the seat next to him. "I gotta go soon, s' sit down. It's present time."

Remy stubbed out the rest of his cig on the railing before flicking it away. He sat down next to his brother wordlessly.

"From _pére_." Henri reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a check, handing it to Remy. "'m supposed t' make sure dats enough."

Remy put it in his pocket without looking. "It's enough."

"Remy."

He sighed. "I'm not Donald Trump, Henri. Whatever it is, it's enough."

"Donald Trump…" Henri muttered as he reached back into his coat. "Could y' cultural references be any staler? Kim Kardashian, o' somet'in'…" He pulled out a small, rectangular box, not much bigger than a pack of cards. He handed the box to Remy. "Dat's from Mercy an' me. It's not what it looks like."

He opened the box, finding inside a dark leather wallet. Remy took it out of the box. The leather was good quality, soft to the touch and permeating with that unique scent of hide and oils. In the corner, his initials had been neatly engraved. _REL_. He ran his finger across the indented letters, finding the sentiment somehow much more touching than necessary.

"We figured," Henri spoke up, breaking the silence, "seeing as y' ain't borrowin' dose from strangers no more, y' oughta have a nice one of y' own."

Remy turned to his brother smiling. "It really is nice. _Merci beaucoup_." Suddenly, he furrowed his brow slightly. "I t'ought y' said dere was news dat went wit dis?"

Henri's smile broadened. "Open it up."

In an instant, Remy's mind began racing with the possibilities. What could Henri have put in the wallet that would say he could come home? He could have just written it on a piece of paper, but that was sort of pointless. The official Guild decree would be too large to fit, but maybe if he had it copied and shrunk it down-

His theories died the second he opened the wallet. Inside, encased in the photo sleeve was a small, indiscernible black and white picture.

Remy's heart dropped.

"What's dis?"

"It's an ultrasound." Henri's smile couldn't be any bigger if he tried. "Dat's y' nephew. Or niece, we don' know yet. Mercy's only a couple o' months along."

Remy tried to wrap his mind around the unexpected image in his hand. "What?"

"Mercy's pregnant, Rems. Y' gonna be an _oncle_!"

"Oh." He tried, _really_ tried, to keep the disappointment from his face, but even if he'd been successful, his brother could always read him.

Henri frowned. "What'd y' t'ink I was goin' t' say?" Suddenly, a look of realization spread across his features. "Oh no, y' didn't t'ink…" He sighed, shaking his head ruefully. "Remy, it's been less dan a year since y' were exiled. It's not a time-out, it's _banishment_. Sure, da whole t'ing got blown out'a proportion, an' da Elders, on _bot'_ sides, dey gonna see dat someday. But it's gonna take some time, _frére_. A **lot** more time."

Remy looked up at his brother, and the face he was giving him, that horrible, damned _pity_, just sent him over the edge. It had been foolish to dream that his exile had been lifted. That's exactly what he was: a fool, for losing control in the first place, for caring, for giving a damn whether he ever saw his family again or not. And feeling like an idiot, seeing that horrible look on his brother's face, he just couldn't stand it. He felt defensive, and on instinct, he snapped.

"Oh, don' act like y' care, Henri," he seethed. "I's not like y' give a damn. I don' recall y' doin' a whole lot o' protestin' when dey t'rew m' ass out on da street. Like y' said, you da _reigning LeBeau_, once again. Just like y' always wanted." He stood abruptly, turning away from Henri as leaned forward against the porch rail. He pulled out a new cigarette, charging the end before taking a pull.

If it had been Jean-Luc, Remy's attack would have started a brawl, an all-out shouting match. But Henri was different. Henri was patient. Henri was kind. And Henri knew his brother better than he knew himself.

He stood up, coming to rest behind Remy. "Y' know dat ain't true," he stated softly. "Y' know if dere was anyt'in' I coulda done t' change t'ings, I would have. Watchin' y' drive away, alone, scared, not knowing' what da hell was up wit' y' powers… dat was da worst t'ing I've ever done. And dese past few mont's, dey been hell. Even when y' were off wastin' y' life workin' f' dat Magnet guy, y' called and wrote all da time. I hate dis exile shit as much as you do." Henri sighed, placing a hand on Remy's shoulder as he continued to face away from him. "Come on, Remy. I've stayed longer dan I should've. I gotta go. Don' be mad, jus' come see m' off like a good _frére_."

Remy took a long drag from his cig. Henri never took the bait when he was pushing for a fight. With a great sigh, he charged the remainder of his cigarette, tossing it in the air where it disintegrated with a tiny 'pop'. He turned to face his brother, forcing a small smile onto his lips.

"Alright."

They made their way wordlessly through the mansion to the front steps. They stood outside, staring aimlessly at the black town car Henri had pulled up the front drive earlier until Remy broke the silence.

"Well… t'anks f' comin'."

Henri sighed before putting on his trademark grin. He was never one to leave things on a bad note. "Yeah. Happy birt'day. Now come 'ere, y' big idiot." He grabbed Remy and pulled him into a tight bear hug.

As he was about to release Henri, Remy was suddenly hit with the realization that this may be the last time he'd ever see his brother. When he was exiled, he'd been too numb with grief from what had happened and too paralyzed with fear of it happening again to let the true weight of reality impact his goodbyes. But now, in the calm of the setting sun, it hit him with full force, and instead of letting go, he found himself gripping Henri harder, seizing him with a sudden desperation. A wave of anguish hit him unexpectedly, and before he knew it, he found himself crying, burying his face in Henri's shoulder. He dug his fingers into his brother's back, squeezing his eyes shut tightly in an attempt to hold back the tears that streamed down his face despite the effort and biting his lip as he suppressed the sobs that made his body shake.

"Hey now…" Henri soothed, "Y' gonna be okay."

Remy continued to hold onto him desperately, silent sobs racking though him.

"Y' know, I still remember da day _pére_ brought y' home," Henri mused as he held his younger brother. He chuckled lightly. "You were so small, so skinny, all legs, an' arms, an' ribs. An' dirty." He laughed. "Y' were _so _dirty. I t'ough Tante was gonna have a heart attack, you walkin' 'round on her nice clean floors. But mostly… mostly, I remember, you were so _old_." He swallowed. "Jus' a pup, but y' looked like y' already lived a lifetime or more. An' den wit' all da shit y' went t'rough afta' dat, da kind o' stuff dat seems t' follow you around f' some reason… you jus' got _older_. I used t' keep m'self up at night worryin' about y', t'inking you were gonna die o' natural causes before y' turned 18."

Henri paused. "But seein' ya now, in dis place… y' seem _younger_, Remy. Y' smilin' wit' y' eyes now. I never seen y' do dat before."

Henri pulled away, despite Remy's resistance. He could tell Henri was trying to look him in the eye, but he refused to open them.

"Y' gonna be okay," Henri repeated. "Y' got people lookin' out f' y' here. Y' got a good _femme_ t' take care o' y'. I ain't worried." He placed his hand on the back of Remy's head, pulling him forward and kissing him on the forehead before messing up his hair roughly. "I gotta go, Rems. Got a plane waitin'."

Remy opened his eyes then, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground. He nodded. "'kay."

"Okay."

With that, Henri left. Remy didn't watch as his brother descended the steps and walked over to his car, sitting inside and closing the door behind him. With his eyes still fixed upon the ground at his feet, Remy listened as the engine roared to life and the transmission clicked, the hum of the town car getting quieter and eventually fading into the distance. He stood there, staring at his feet until the night was silent, and he was sure his brother was completely out of sight. He looked up, confirming that, once again, he was alone. He couldn't watch Henri leave.

It was just easier this way.

He sat down on the front steps, not ready to go inside and face another living being quite yet. He didn't light up; he wasn't really in the mood, and he'd been going through the things pretty heavily as of late. Making up for lost time, he supposed. Instead, he simply sat, alternating between closing his eyes and observing the dance of light that played behind his closed lids and staring up at the darkening night sky as the stars began to come out. Most importantly, he didn't think of Henri. He didn't think of his family. And he didn't think of New Orleans; her sights, her sounds, that unique smell of spices and tradition that soaked through your skin as easily as the gulf air. He sat for hours, ignoring the cold that still lingered, not quite as biting as months past, in the growing night. He sat until, finally, he no longer had to _try_ not to think of Henri, or his family, or that city that he loved and missed with every fiber of his being. He sat until he was totally and mercifully numb.

It was just easier this way.

On autopilot, he made his way upstairs to his rooms, taking no notice of any of the other inhabitants of the mansion, and not acknowledging them if he did. When he opened his bedroom door, however, he was broken from his trance by the leggy figure perched on the edge of his bed.

"Rogue…" he sighed, forcing a lightness into his tone. "Dat's twice now I catch y' breakin' into m' room."

She scowled. "First off, you accuse me of 'breakin' in' one more time and I'm takin' the key ya **gave** me and shovin' it up yer ass."

He chuckled at her empty threat.

"And second of all, it just so happens that I _did_ break into to someone's room tonight, and I did for **your** benefit, so you'd be wise ta keep yer comments to yerself." She reached behind her back and pulled out a bottle of whiskey with a sly grin. "Logan's private stash. I figured you'd be in need of a little pick-me-up."

He smiled a little as he walked over to the bed. "I guess I am. But 'm surprised y' risked breakin' into Monsieur Claw's room, what wit' da type o' punishment he's likely t' give y' if y' get caught." He sat down on the edge of the bed next to her.

"Yeah, well, I ran into him on his way to a meetin' with the Professor, so I knew I had some time." She handed him the bottle. "He said you'd been sitting outside by yerself for a couple o' hours. I think he was kind of worried about ya."

He sighed before taking a long swig of whiskey. "'m fine."

"Yeah, ya look it." Her sarcasm was light and filled with concern.

He took another swig, feeling the liquid burn as it made it's way down his throat, but the alcohol wasn't working. That numbness he'd carefully secured for himself was wearing off, and the pain was starting to kick in. He turned to Rogue, still just as lovely as she'd been all day.

"Stay wit' me tonight," he whispered. He reached across and touched his hand to her knee, slowly running it up her thigh. He lowered his head to her shoulder, placing a slow, seductive kiss on the material there.

"Remy…"

He ignored her warning, his hand trailing up further, caressing her hip, her waist, gently brushing against the side of her breast. He was falling back on an old familiar habit; using physical pleasure to smother emotional pain. It'd been so long since he'd done it, but with her sitting so close, her body so warm and tantalizing, the urge came back to him like second nature.

"Stay wit' me," he breathed into her ear. There were ways around her mutation, if she would let him. He had never done this with her, openly seducing her, using his knowledgeable skills to take advantage of her unfulfilled desires. It was unfair, really, but he needed her. No, he needed this.

She stopped him when he cupped her breast, reaching up and taking his hand in hers. With her other hands, she gently touched his chin, bringing his face in front of her to meet her eyes.

He was expecting anger, maybe fear, and probably a slap in the face. He'd pushed her boundaries, on purpose. Instead, her face was soft, her features full of sorrowful compassion as she beheld him.

"You're sad."

She gently caressed his cheek with the back of her silk-covered fingers. He looked down, unable to hold her gaze. In her patience and wisdom, she had seen through his actions for what they really were.

She leaned back against the bed, sitting up against his headboard.

"Come here."

She pulled him over to her lightly, her hands soft on his shoulders. He let his body go limp, complying with her commands as she gently pushed him down, laying his head in her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair soothingly, simply being his comfort. Simply being there.

He smiled lightly to himself. She was so unexpected, and she was everything he needed in his life. She understood him when he didn't want her to, or when he didn't understand himself. She was so much like Henri.

Unexpected, yes. But needed. He concentrated on the feeling of her fingers as they moved through his hair, letting the numbness fade and the emotions sink in. With her here, he could handle it. Closing his eyes, he continued to focus on the slow trail of those silk-covered digits and let go, allowing himself to remember.

* * *

**French Translation** (Thanks to my new French best friend: **Didi74**! Everyone, say 'thanks' to Didi! We'll be getting some inaccuracies from past chapters fixed now as well. Yay! Oh, and Didi, sorry if I repeat some of my same past mistakes in this chapter, in the future I'll have you check _all_ the French, but I felt the need to get this up):

_Qu'est ce que ce gars sait à propos de ce que nous faisons? _How much does this guy know about what we do?

_Il parle français? _He speaks French?

_Il peut lire nos pensés, espèce d'idiot! _He can read minds, you idiot!

_En faite, Remy, je parle aussi couramment français. _Actually, Remy, I'm also fluent in French.

* * *

Ok, so, **_all _**you reviewers know I love you very, very much. Hold that happy feeling in your heart for a moment now:

I have a white whale. Actually, I have two white whales. See, there are these two particular users out there who seem to review **EVERY** ROMY story... except mine. These guys seriously review it all, big stories, small stories, great stories, total crap stories, stories that read like they were written by a 12 year-old, and probably were... but not this story. It's driving me crazy! It shouldn't, it's completely silly, but the insecure part of me is telling me that these guys aren't reviewing this story because it's even _worse_ than the worst crap out there. It makes me sad.

I'm done being sad. I want those reviewers, dang it!

Now, I'm not going to be pathetic enough to call them out by name, but I will be_ just_ pathetic enough to do initials. So, if your username starts with a 'L' or an 'A', and you review EVERY. SINGLE. ROMY. STORY... except this one.... _what the hell_?! Review my story! I'm begging now! It's become a crazy obsession! Even if you just say 'you suck', I seriously think I'll sleep better...

Of course, I don't want to minimize my fondness for those of you who actually review. I love you with big, squishy eyes and bowls of icecream. I know that doesn't make sense, I'm just SOOOOOOO in love with you all that my brain can no longer function properly, it's too consumed with reviewer love. Yeah, it's that serious. Let's keep the love going, shall we?


	12. Freak Like Me

**Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel or any of its characters, but I do own Tim©, the tiny magical dog that lives in Remy's pocket. Yeah, that's right, _starlight2twilight_, I sold you out! Did it behind your back, cut you out of the deal. And now, the profits will all go to ME! Bwahahahahahahaha!!!**

So, um.... hi. Yeah, I'm back, tail between my legs and everything. I know, it's been a while. Summer has been rough, major case of Writer's Fatigue (think majorly tired brain, and that's been me) added to a nearly non-existent writing schedule amounts to, well, the big giant block of time inbetween updates. So there you have it. But I did appreciate all the warm-hearted messages sent my way, requesting I get off my cute little butt and get writing again. As someone southern (which I am not) would say: "Y'all are so sweet!".

So, during my break, I started watching Evo episodes that are airing on DisneyXD. It's, um... cute. Maybe a bit of a let down considering I'm writing a story in the show's universe. But maybe that's just because I'm not the cartoon's intended audience and I'm not watching it with the rose-colored glasses of nostalgia. The original animated series is cheesy as hell, but can still look upon it with the same eyes I used as an innocent 10-year-old. As far as Evo goes, my 4-year-old loves it. She's gaga over Beast. Everytime she sees him, she smiles and goes "**RARRRRRR**!!!". Even when he's, like, sitting at a computer. Sorry, Dr. McCoy, you may have the heart of a man, but as far as Lexie's concerned, you'll always be a monster.

No Reviewer Quote of the Week this time, or review responses. Because, well, I suck.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Freak Like Me**

"Hey Rems… ya ever think about havin' kids?"

He looked up from his text book, trying to hide the slight look of terror in his perplexed expression.

"Are we seriously havin' dis conversation, _Chère_?"

Rogue rolled her eyes. "I'm not askin' ya ta go crib shoppin' with me, it's just a hypothetical. Ya know, at _some_ point in yer life, with the woman of yer choosin'… do ya ever think ya might wanna have kids?"

He closed his book; clearly, dodging this conversation would be requiring his full attention for the moment. He was sitting at the small desk in his room studying as Rogue lounged on top of his bed lazily. It was an odd roll-reversal, seeing as he was usually the one tagging along like a clingy puppy dog while she did her homework. He swiveled in his chair to face her.

"Honestly, _Chère_, unless y' wanna see a Remy-shaped hole in dat door over dere, I suggest y' change da subject."

She scowled at him before turning on her side to reach for the television remote on his nightstand. "Sure. Fine. Whatever. I was just talkin', that's all… go back to yer book, poindexter."

He spun his chair back to face the desk, opening the book up to where he had left off as she turned on her back and flipped through the channels mindlessly. However, he found, after a minute of rereading the same sentence four times, he couldn't get his head back into his studying.

"Why y' askin' 'bout kids, anyway?"

Rogue flopped her head to the side to face him, her eyes gleaming as she tried quite obviously not to smile. "I thought ya didn't wanna talk about it, sugah," she drawled.

He rolled his eyes, but his smirk was playful. "Don' be coy, smartass. Y' got y' way, now answer da damn question."

She sighed, turning to lay on her side and face him fully. "I don't know…" '_Yes, you do_,' he thought. "I was just lookin' at this ultrasound picture," he noticed then the printout Henri had given him lying next to her on the bed, "and thinkin' about Henri."

She paused, fingering the small paper. "It's sort of odd… I mean, on the one hand, he's the heir to a multinational crime syndicate," Remy rolled his eyes at her melodramatic description of his brother, "and yet, he's still sort of a normal guy. You know, married, with a kid on the way."

Remy chuckled to himself. "Yeah, well, dat's Henri f' ya. He's a well-rounded guy."

She ignored his comment. "I guess I always just figured the whole 'family life' thing was sort of reserved for everyday folk. Not… ya know, people like us."

"Freaks."

She smiled. "Right."

"Well den," he began, slouching down further in his chair as he crossed his arms in front of him, "I guess da sixty-four t'ousand dollar question would be: What 'bout you? Y' ever t'ink about havin' kids, Rogue?"

She scoffed, turning to lie on her back, looking up at the ceiling.

"I think my mutation sort of makes that a moot point."

He frowned, but his protest was cut off before it started as she continued. "It never used ta bother me, though. I mean, when my powers first manifested, naturally, that was one of the first things that came to my mind, the fact that I wouldn't be able ta have kids. And back then, I didn't care, not about that part. I'd never been much of a baby person, and it's not like I was one of those little girls who sat around playin' with their Barbie dolls, dreamin' of white weddin's and playin' house."

She paused, and he couldn't help but ask. "And now?"

A small bitter smile ghosted her lips for just a moment before her poker face was back in place. "It's not like I _want_ kids now, it's just…" She sighed. "I guess I'm just feelin' the loss a little lately. 'What could have been', and all that."

"What changed?" The question slipped out unconsciously.

She glanced at him for a moment, catching his eyes, before turning back to the television, feigning nonchalance. "I don't know."

'_Yes, you do_.'

"_Chère_…"

She sat up suddenly. "I should leave ya alone, let ya get on with yer studying." She avoided his gaze as she got up off the bed, heading for the door. "Besides, this is a stupid conversation for us ta be havin'. It's the sort of thing _normal _people talk about. Not… ya know, people like us."

He watched as she shyly left the room, closing the door behind her. Sighing, he turned back to his book, knowing there was no way he was going to be able to get his mind back on his studying now.

***

'Normal people'. Yeah, that category definitely did not include him. Seven months living at the Xavier Institute for Gifted Children and Remy LeBeau was still, without a doubt,** not** normal. Of course, the more time he spent around these so-called 'normal' people, the more he was convinced that being 'normal' was not all it was cracked up to be.

Normal people, for one, were notorious wasters of time. They even had a term for it: hanging out. Ironically, there was no actual 'hanging' done, as the name would imply. That, at least, Remy could understand. He had done quite a lot of hanging in his day, seeing as it was a traditional Guild punishment for insubordinate youngsters to be forced to hang by their arms for sometimes up to an hour. As much as he had hated that particular penance, building up that specific muscle set had actually come in handy on more than one occasion. But the whole concept of 'hanging out', as normal people did it, seemed to have very little purpose at all. Which, apparently, was sort of the point.

Not to say that Remy was one of those type-A personalities that demanded that every second of their day be scheduled out to some sort of useful and meaningful activity. Quite the opposite, in fact. He enjoyed his downtime as much as the next person. But it seemed a waste not to fill that downtime doing _something_. He had hobbies. Drinking, gambling, fornicating… all perfectly reasonable and pleasurable ways in which to blow off steam. He even enjoyed a few more mundane, suburban pastimes. There was a small river on the edge on the Manor's property, and now that the weather was warming up, he and Logan liked fish along its banks. They were sometimes joined by Piotr, when they went on Saturdays or when he wasn't in class at Art school, though most of the time the Russian would simply stick his pole in the ground near the water's edge so he could quietly sketch. Despite the many requests, none of the younger students were allowed to come along, seeing as it was seemingly impossible for any of them to stay quiet or still enough to avoid both scaring the fish and pissing off the older mutants during what Kitty jokingly referred to as 'Social Hour for Loners'. See, fishing, this was something Remy could understand. But this business of 'hanging out', he just didn't get.

"Can't we at least play cards or somet'in', _Chère_?"

"No. Remy, my brain is tired. I just wanna hang. Ya know, veg out."

"Veg out?"

"Yeah. 'Be still like vegetables. Lay like broccoli'."

"Like, oh my gosh, I totally **love** that movie!"

Remy had learned, over the past seven months, to simply ignore it when Kitty said something that made absolutely no sense to him, which, truth be told, was at least half the time. Trying to find meaning behind each and every one of the many words that flew out of the tiny brunette's mouth would be, for him, a complete waste of his time. That was something that Remy, unlike these so-called 'normal' people, made a habit not to do.

Maybe it was because it was something he was not accustomed to having, this type of lifestyle in which one had even the option to periodically do nothing. Living on the streets as a child was constant work, and Jean-luc ran a tight ship. Sure, the Thieves played as hard as they worked, but never did they sit around doing _nothing_. The patriarch simply did not believe in slothfulness. So yes, maybe it was the fact that his formidable years had been lacking in the luxury of lazy, pointless days that turned Remy off on the notion when it was finally afforded to him.

Or maybe it was the fact that, to be quant, life was precious. He knew this. Hell, he hadn't had an easy life, or even a good one, but it was a _life_, damn it, and he had fought for it tooth and nail on several occasions. Perhaps it was because he was older, had lived a little more than some of the kids around the school. Though the thought of him being considered 'mature' was laughable at best, he knew better than to piss away his valuable time as if it meant nothing, as if _he_ meant nothing. Although, maybe 'better' wasn't the word. 'Different'. He knew different. He hadn't had the safe, protected life, where one could squander away time like meaningless change in the bottom of a forgotten pocket. He was reminded of a woman he had seen once, when he was young, on the streets. She was shopping in the French Quarter, and she was rich. Obviously rich. Ridiculously rich. Rich in a way that seemed to drip off her body, to where even he, a small orphan with no real concept of money, could just look at her and visualize the status of her stock portfolio. Yeah, she was that kind of rich. She was perusing the wares of one of the many street vendors, fingering the assortment of tacky, cliché jewelry.

"Well, gee, I just don't know which one to get her…" she hummed, louder than necessary and clearly for the purpose of hearing herself speak. "See, I'm looking for a gift for my housekeeper, a souvenir, she just loves this sort of traditional ethnic jewelry- " The necklaces she fussed with were made in China and could be found at any dollar store across the country. The vendor smiled and nodded in the way that said 'all I need is your money, white lady' "- but I'm just not sure which color she'd like…"

She continued to toy with the merchandise, her brow furrowed in a look of deep contention before, a precise three seconds later, her face cleared. "Oh hell." She exclaimed. "I'll just get them all. What do I care?"

It was at that point that Remy, and anyone else who was watching, realized that the entire thing had been for show. The whole business about deciding which one to buy had been one big set up to the final declaration: she didn't have to choose. She had enough money that, at this point, it was meaningless to her. Something to be tossed around without a second thought. The vendor stated the price, a good three times higher than even the usual mark-up, and she paid it without hesitation, handing him a bill even bigger than what the man had asked for and left without her change.

As Remy watched her walk away, stuffing her worthless purchases into her obnoxiously large purse, he hated her. Everything he fought for, he yearned for, she had in spades, and it meant nothing to her. He hated her, and not in a jealous sort of way. He was not envious of who she was and what she could do. She had everything he ever dreamed of, and the thought that his dreams, his hopes, could hold so little value to someone like her made him sick.

These kids, these so-called 'normal' kids, were a little like that woman, if he allowed himself to be dramatic. Throwing away the peaceful days of their youth as if they were nothing. As if those easy, carefree moments would never go away, run their course, or, heaven forbid, be snatched from them before their time. Not to say that Remy felt as if one should always grab each day by the horns. That was for people like Scott. But he _lived_, damn it. Whether drinking himself under the bar, allowing himself to sleep thirty minutes past the team Danger Room session in the warm embrace of his down comforter, or sprawling out on the damn lawn watching the clouds drift by, he was **doing** something. Not lying on the couch, staring at a television screen when there was absolutely nothing worthwhile being aired. That, in Remy's opinion, was a complete and total waste.

Of course, the strength of his feelings on the issue may have had something to do with the fact that it was during these pointless times of 'hanging out' in close proximity to Rogue that his sexual frustration reached sky-rocketing proportions.

Yeah, that may have had something to do with it.

Time, of course, was not the only thing these 'normal' people wasted. Clichéd as the sentiment may be, it was true: the amount of food the kids at the Xavier Institute wasted could feed a small country. A small, very hungry country. Remy was one step away from asking the Professor to enforce a 'clean plate' rule, if it wasn't for the detestable thought that the move may make him look like a crotchety old man. Or a tight-ass. Or Scott.

But the fact remained that these 'normal' kids had no concept of how lucky they were to have an abundance of food at their fingertips. Clearly none of them had been unfortunate enough to have been forced to eat out of a garbage can. Really, was a little portion control so much to ask for? Just because Pop-Tarts come two to a package does not mean you are contractually obligated to cook both pastries and soil them with your smudgy little fingers if your current appetite will only handle one. It nearly killed him to throw away so many perfectly good morsels of food, and not just because it irked Remy that the job of cleaning up after the breakfast rush usually fell upon him, seeing as he did not have class to run off to. It was simply painful for the street-kid that still lived inside him to pour half-full glasses of juice down the drain and three good-sized bites of eggs into the garbage can, and if it wasn't for the personal vow he'd made when he was taken in by the LeBeau's that he would **never** partake in refuse ever again, he would have made use of the forgotten food himself, simply out of principle.

He made an exception when it came to Rogue's extras. The fact that he would gladly father her children made it seem less demeaning to finish off her discarded toast crusts. That's what he brought to the relationship. She was the mature one, the responsible, faithful, reasonably emotionally-stable half. He took care of the left-overs. Which, really, was no small task. Of all the food-wasters in the Mansion, Rogue was, by far, the worst offender. He loved her, but the girl had eyes at least three times the size of her stomach. She was a passionate woman, and her food-cravings were a good example of that. She would pile the food on her plate. He appreciated a Southern gal with a healthy appetite, but given her tiny frame, her meal proportions were always too ambitious. He tried to talk to her about toning it down a bit, but Rogue didn't exactly take criticism well, however gentle and well-intentioned it may be.

"Maybe y' could jus' start wit' half, _Chère_. If y' still hungry afta' dat, y' could always take more."

"Ya better back up off my damn plate, Cajun, before I snap yer wrists and feed ya to the Danger Room crocodiles."

Kitty had programmed the simulated creatures to "like, remind Remy of home!". Cute.

And when they weren't overestimating how much food it would take to stuff themselves silly, these 'normal' kids were rejecting meals that they, for some reason, deemed 'unworthy', pointlessly condemning themselves to hunger aches for the rest of the night.

"Okay, like, why won't you guys eat my casserole? It's better than last time… I ditched the nutmeg!" Kitty whined as she eyed the indefinable dish that sat in the middle of the dining table, almost completely untouched.

"Kitty, no offense, but I vould rather starve zhen eat zhat," Kurt responded, presumably for the group as a whole. Remy rolled his eyes as he swallowed a forkful of the odd-colored concoction. If he ever came even _close _to actually starving, Kurt, of all people, would gladly eat anything Kitty could cook up and he'd be thanking his lucky stars for the opportunity.

"Oh shut up, Kurt," Kitty grumbled. "It's not that bad. Remy likes it."

Remy's face shot up from his plate in horror. "Take dat back." The insinuation that he actually _enjoyed_ the culinary disaster that graced the table that night seemed like an insult to his character.

"But… you're, like, the only one eating it…"

Remy shrugged. "It's food."

"Yes, that's right, Remy," Storm spoke up from the other end of the table. "You all would be wise to learn from Gambit. No one appreciates what they have more than those who have been without. We're all very fortunate to have a such a wonderful place to live and food to eat."

Under the Weather Witch's glare, the rest of the students begrudgingly dished themselves up dime-sized helpings of the mixture as Kitty beamed in triumph. The group chewed in silence for a minute before Remy piped in.

"But, jus' so we're clear," he stated, glancing around the table, "I don' actually _like_ it."

Truth be told, as horrid as Kitty's creations were, they weren't a whole lot worse than anything found in the average diet of most of the 'normal' X-men, in Remy's opinion. He found it hard to believe that the over-processed, prepackaged, laboratory-created items that filled the mansion's pantries could actually be considered 'food' in some circles.

Before he was adopted, Remy's major sources of nutrition were the back-alley dumpsters and abandoned table-scraps of the Big Easy. Needless to say, his body had been accustomed to living off rotting, half-eaten food. But when he was brought into the LeBeau Mansion and introduced to Tante Mattie's kitchen and all the wonders that it could produce, his eyes were opened to a whole new world of culinary delights. Like waking up one day to learn that the rest of humanity could take off their faces, he discovered what food was really supposed to taste like. One of those Red Pill/Matrix moments. Having his eyes opened, he had no desire to go back to the way his life had been before.

It was amazing how different his body felt when fueled by homemade ingredients and fresh fruits and vegetables. Produce had been a big discovery for him, seeing as most dumpsters rarely hold crisp, ripe apples still in season. He became a compulsively healthy eater, and to the day he still reveled in the energy it gave him. He had no idea how Kurt managed to make it through DR sessions on a diet consisting mostly of hamburgers, pizza, and excessive amounts of Mountain Dew.

The Guild was very old-school traditional, and as such, all meals were home-cooked. In New York, Remy no longer had the luxury of Tante Mattie, but that didn't mean he planned on letting his standards slide. He had tried, at first, to eat like the rest of the X-men, but found it to be a major step backwards. If he _wanted _to eat garbage, he would have just stayed on the streets. Instead, he picked up the slack by cooking himself, and found that he'd actually absorbed more culinary knowledge than he was aware of in all the time he had spent sitting on the countertop as a young boy watching the old mystic prepare the family's meals. In fact, he actually seemed to be quite good at cooking, and the more time he spent in the kitchen, the more he found he truly enjoyed it. Over time, his nights on dinner duty turned into a clear favorite with the students, and he found himself looking forward to those nights as well, so much so that he gladly traded with anyone whenever offered an exchange for one of his less enjoyable chores. He had a number of Cajun recipes already memorized, but recently Rogue had introduced him the Food Network, and with the Tivo that she had persuaded him to buy for himself, he was quickly becoming an expert in a myriad of cultural cuisines. Most early afternoons found him whipping up a new experiment in the kitchen for the students to sample when they returned home from school.

(Secretly he'd begun to contemplate going to Culinary School, after he got his GED. He'd done a little online research on the nearest schools in the area when the mansion was empty. Maybe it wasn't as grand or noble an area of study as Scott's Pre-Law or Jean's Pre-Med, but Piotr's Graphic Design degree wasn't exactly going to change the world either.)

However, despite the fact that everyone seemed to agree that Remy's homemade creations were by far the best food options at the mansion, when left to their own devices, the rest of the students retreated back to the familiarity and convenience of their prepackaged, processed food with obnoxious and condescending names such as 'Lunchables', 'Hot Pockets', or 'Beef-aroni'. One time, out of both horror and fascination, Remy had spent an entire morning reading the ingredients listed on every item he remembered Rogue having eaten in the past two weeks. It was shocking, and a little scary, to learn that someone you loved was putting so many unknown, pharmaceutical-sounding substances in their body. Kind of like discovering that your girlfriend was injecting heroin before homeroom. She took his little intervention on the subject about as well as expected.

"Pardon me, _Martha Stewart_, but some of us don't have the luxury o' sitting around all day cooking up three-course meals. When ya got five minutes ta get some grub in ya before headin' off ta public school hell, a bowl of Cap'n Crunch is a whole heck of a lot faster than an egg-white omelet."

"Yeah, well, so's Rat Poison, _Chère_."

She had pointed out the hypocrisy of his argument, seeing as he had no problem consuming large amounts of alcohol himself, which was clearly more harmful to the body than anything she ate for breakfast. He pointed out that no one liked a smartass.

Of course, there was one frivolity that the 'normal' X-men indulged in that Remy could not only get behind, but excelled at, and that was the art of a good prank. Apparently that was one of those pastimes that anyone living in closed quarters with a large number of teenagers enjoyed. Remy was continually impressed with the creativity some of the young mutants possessed, especially the New Recruits, surprisingly, but what he lacked himself in ingenuity, he more than made up for with skill. He was, after all, a Master Thief, and that certainly came in handy.

"**SWAMP RAT**!!"

The shrill scream had made its way down to the kitchen from the dormitories above as Remy sat one morning at the breakfast table, sipping his coffee. All eyes in the crowded kitchen were instantly turned in his direction. He smirked over his mug at the audience before him.

"Y' t'ink she's talkin' 'bout me?"

Logan growled from his place on the other side of the small table, setting his sports page down as he glared at the young Cajun.

"What did ya do this time, Gumbo?"

Remy's eyes widened in mock innocence. "_Moi_?"

Sixty seconds later, Rogue stormed into the kitchen with a small bit of indiscernible fabric clenched in one hand, bare-faced and dressed in a tracksuit as her still-damp hair dripped down her back. As she stomped to Remy's side, he turned in his seat to greet her with a charming smile.

"_Bonjour, ma Chèrie_-"

"-Oh don't ya '_Chèrie_' me, ya two-bit, no-good piece of back-water trailer trash! Where the **hell** did ya put 'em?!" she seethed.

That look of innocence was back on his handsome features as he responded. "Why, _Chère_, you seem upset. Did somet'in' happen dis morning', m' sweet?"

Rogue glared at him, ignoring the crowd that watched them as she crossed her arms hotly in front of her. "Did somethin' happen? I'll tell ya what happened! I went ta get dressed after my shower this mornin', only ta find that _someone _snuck inta my room, stole all my underwear, _and replaced them with a bunch of __**crotchless panties**_!!" She chucked an offending pair of hot-pink 'underwear' at his head as he began to chuckle, and the entire room burst into raucous laughter.

"It's not funny!" she protested.

"Dude!" Bobby managed to say between his fits. "Why the hell would you do _that_?"

Remy just smiled as he tapped the side of his head with his index finger. "'s a nice visual, _non_?"

Rogue and Logan growled in unison.

"Listen, Swamp Rat," she began dangerously, "ya got two seconds ta give 'em back before I rip yer eyes out and shove 'em up yer butt so ya can _watch _me kick yer ass!"

He chuckled lightly as he waved off her threat, slowly getting up from his seat. "_D'accord, d'accord_…" He stepped to her side, stopping in front of her and placing a gentle hand on her hip. "But, before I go, _Chère_, I jus' got one question." He let his gaze drop lower, fixing an appreciative look upon her lower body. "See, 'm jus' wonderin', wit' all y' _lingerie _gone missing, what exactly y' got goin' on under-"

"**LOGAN**!"

"_Merde_!" he swore as the feral man jumped up from his chair and took chase. The Cajun dashed out of the kitchen and fled through the mansion, but before too long he found himself hanging from a suspended bar in the Danger Room. As Kitty's adorable crocodiles snapped at his feet from the simulated swamp below, Remy regretted sharing that particular Thieves' punishment with Logan.

The thing was, however, that although Remy may not be normal, it was definitely rubbing off on him, and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

One afternoon he was walking out of the grocery store, pushing a cart full of perishables, when a shapely young woman caught his eyes as she passed him on her way into the store. '_She has a fantastic pair of breasts,' _he thought to himself.

And there was the rub. He had only thought it, whereas the old Remy would have come right out and told the young woman how wonderful he thought her assets were. And offered to buy her a drink. Or breakfast. But this time, it hadn't even occurred to him.

By the time he reached the X-van in the parking lot, it hit him: he was being tamed. It wasn't just the girl; although a part of him wished that he had at least flirted, he didn't actually want to cheat on Rogue. Not really. But it was more than that. He looked down at himself. Here he was, at 3pm in the afternoon, shopping for groceries. He had to change his dinner plans last minute when he got a bad reaction to the Gumbo he'd been cooking. Surprisingly, he hadn't made the dish for the team yet, but when Jamie had come home from school and saw the roux, the black liquid simmering and bubbling on the stove, he ran up to his room crying. And so Remy had run out and hopped into the X-van, of all things, and rushed down to the grocery store to buy a whole new set of ingredients. He'd _paid_ for them, stuffing them into a set of those reusable grocery bags made from organic fibers that yuppies buy to make themselves feel good. He'd paid for his pack of cigarettes as well. Hell, he even remembered to pick up a new roll of Chapstick for Rogue, having noted that she was running low.

He was mother-freakin' Greg Brady.

Immediately, he drove to the nearest bar and got himself good and wasted. At 3pm on a weekday, with perishables waiting in the car. Yeah, that's right. He even drove home drunk, which, of course, was not so much 'not normal' as it was 'extremely dangerous', but the gentle '_thump thump thump' _of the bag of oranges that rolled across the back of the van as he swerved around corners sounded sufficiently quirky in his ears. When he finally returned to the mansion, he abandoned the wilting groceries as he headed out back to the lake, stripping down to his boxers and jumping in for a swim. In March. It was getting warmer, but not _that _warm. He wasn't sure if the lake idea had come as a reaction to the grocery store incident or the eight shots of bourbon. By the end, the details got sort of fuzzy.

Remy LeBeau was _not _normal, damn it.

When Rogue had found him later, soaked to the bone and lying in the grass by the edge of the lake, she'd been pissed. Logan was pissed, too, but Remy didn't care about that so much. Rogue, though… she was pissed, but moreover, she was concerned. Scared, really. He could have drowned. It wasn't what he'd intended, making her worry. But he'd done it anyway. Then she'd found out he had driven home drunk. That sent her over the edge. It killed him, that look on her face, like she was picturing all the ways in which he could have died and all the scenarios in which she would have found out. In that moment, still drunk and soaking wet, he would have done anything to wipe that look off her face.

He cared about her in a way he never thought he was capable of. Not with anyone else, and not even with Rogue. It wasn't like he started this relationship with her and could suddenly see himself being _that_ guy. Slowly, however, he was getting there. He was faithful, Remy LeBeau of all people, in a virgin relationship with an untouchable girl, no less, and wasn't that the shock of the century. At least it was to the other inhabitants of the mansion, or it would be, if they actually believed it.

He had overheard Amara and Roberto talking in the Rec room one evening.

"There's no way. I'd bet a hundred dollars on it."

"You don't think?"

"Not for a second. _That_ guy? No way he's not getting some action on the side. Even if Rogue _could_ touch. He's just the type, ya know?"

"Wow. That's too bad for Rogue, I guess."

"I don't know, they seem okay. I guess that's just what you expect when you hook up with someone like _that_."

What had irked Remy was not just the assumption that he had cheated, but the implication that he was _incapable _of being faithful. Like he was some sort of walking hard-on with no control over his actions. Yeah, it was hard, being with Rogue and not being able to actually _**be**_with her. But the thing was, what these 'normal' people would never understand, was that, as hard as it was, it wasn't nearly as hard as being without her.

***

They weren't fighting, but she kept her distance that night. He sort of expected it after her admission that afternoon. Rogue was never comfortable showing weakness, with being vulnerable. He had wanted to sit by her at dinner, but she chose a seat next to Kitty instead. He missed her. Lately, under the table, he would hold her hand. It wasn't a display thing, something for show like with Scott and Jean. He just found that he wanted to be near her, connected. It was comforting, and it was familiar. But tonight she was at the other end of the table, and he found his finger flexing involuntarily, his thumb longing to stroke the back of her silk-covered digits.

He caught her by the arm before she could leave the dining room, and led her out to the back porch with a gentle smile. It had been a mild day, and the weather was holding as the sun began to set. He brought her to the edge of the porch, leaning against the rail by her side.

"Y' know, _Chère_, y' neva gave m' a chance t' answer y' question." She looked at him questioningly, and so he continued. "Y' know… da one about kids."

Her brow furrowed slightly. "Oh, uh, okay."

He sighed as he leaned back more fully. He was itching for a smoke, but he didn't dare light up in front of her. Not like this.

"I used t' t'ink about it," he began, his downward gaze fixed upon the tops of his shoes. "Not specifically, more jus' da general idea. Back when I was engaged t' Bella, when I was a pup. Back before… well, everything. Kind of liked de idea of a _famille. __**Ma**__ famille_."

He sighed. "But den… well, den t'ings went bad. After dat, it just didn't seem da same, y' know? An arranged marriage… it's jus' different. Didn't feel like _famille_ no more, so kids didn't exactly fit inta da picture. But now… well, it ain't like dat now."

He shifted nervously, turning to face her before finally bringing his eyes up to meet hers.

"If y' want kids, _Chère_, we can have 'em. And 'm not jus' talkin' 'bout adoption, 'dough dat is one way o' doing it. But dere are other ways around y' mutation, if y' wanted t' have y' own children. I'm not a doctor, but y' hear about dese t'ings. We could make it work, if dat's what y' wanted."

"Remy…" She stared at him, and as her eyes widenned and began to shimmer with tears, he wondered if he'd gone too far.

"'m not making any promises," he corrected hesitantly. "I mean, I know, 'm jus' about da last guy anyone should be plannin' deir future around, it's just…" He sighed, wiping his hand over his face wearily. "_Merde_, 'm saying dis all wrong… I'm just… I'm tryin', y' know? And yeah, we ain't normal, an' we don' have t' be, but dat don' mean we shouldn't _want_ t'ings. Hope f' t'ings. Dream of all da same shit dose 'normal' people do."

She had a tear rolling down her cheek by now, but he didn't stop, knowing that if he did he'd never have it in him to say this. He stepped closer to her, taking her hand.

"Dis t'ing between us-- I don' know where it's gonna go, but I know where I _want _it t' go." He sighed. "I know me. I probably can' give y' every'ing y' need, can' make y' happy. But I _want_ to, an' I'm tryin'. And I jus' t'ink we ought t' be aimin' f' dat future, if dat's what we want."

She swallowed before reaching up, putting her hand on the back of his head and pulling him down closer. Stepping up on her tip-toes, she leaned in, kissing him tenderly on his forehead, his skin protected by the long bangs that perpetually fell in his eyes. She leaned back enough to look him in the eyes, still holding him close as she sighed.

"That sounds good ta me, Remy."

He smiled as he tucked her under his chin, pulling her against him. They stayed that way, the sky having darkened as night took over. Their peace was interrupted as the rest of the X-men clambered out the backdoor, having decided to pick up a game of Mutant Tag by starlight in the backyard to celebrate the first warm Saturday night of the new year. Even with their privacy cut short, she didn't pull away, and he didn't release her. This wasn't normal for them, allowing their teammates to witness such intimacy. Flirting and playful banter, that was another matter, but moments like this, the tender, _real_ times, they kept to themselves. Normally. But tonight, it just didn't feel right to let go.

Normality was overrated.

* * *

**7/15 EDIT: There's been a little confusion, so I thought I should clarify. THIS IS NOT THE END TO THE STORY. Not even close. I've got several more chapters outlined, and I come up with new crap all the time. And, quite frankly, I'm not exactly sure how I'll EVER end this thing. See, that's the problem with not having a real overall plotline. The thing can just keep going and going and going... _Chapter 389: The Nursing Home_.**

First off, I HAVE to pimp you all out. It's a physical need. There's a story over in the Movie 'verse that practically NO ONE is reviewing, and it is possibly the best story I've ever read. I'm being serious here. But for some reason, the only loyal reviewers are me and Don Draper's Bitch, and it's just sad. This story... I don't even know how to describe it. Haunting. But, like, times three million. A totally amazing take on Remy. But be warned. It is NOT the same Remy from this story. Or, really, any other story. But if you're willing to go along for the journey, your mind will be blown. Most interesting Remy ever. Second warning, though. It is rated 'M' , and YES, it is rated 'M'. For all it could be rated 'M' for. I'm talking drugs, violence, language, and a sexually ambiguous Remy. As in, 'all inclusive', and descriptively so. So if you've ever talked with me about homeroom, or your annoying kid brother, or getting allowance from your parents, I don't want to see you reviewing over there, because I'll lose sleep knowing I corrupted the innocent. But the rest of you, go read **Drowning by Saturnian Solitude.** It's on my favorites. And review, review, review!!

Secondly, in this last chapter there were bits stolen from Pretty Woman, Gilmore Girls, and a tiny, obscure one from X-files. If you caught that one, well... who's a bigger geek, me for putting it in there, or you for noticing?

You know what helps me through my extremely tiring summer? Reviews. Yeah. And you guys have been awesome. So, I'll just leave you to it by saying "Thanks again!!" and place a plate of cookies on the edge of the table to show my appreciation. But, please, just take one.


	13. Scar Tissue

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Marvel, or any of its characters, but I now share ownership of Tim© with S2T. She gets $4 of his earnings. He is available for birthday parties, so please, drop me a line and we'll try to fit your into our schedule.**

Alright, not the quickest update to date, but faster than last time, _non_? _Das ist gut, ja? _That's right, I took two years of German in highschool and I can say 'that is good', 'where is it', and sing 'my hat it has three corners'. That's it. American citizens, that's your tax dollars at work, people. Be proud. So, I've been watching more Evo, and it's growing on me. Glad to see more episodes where the kids change outfits. For a while there, I was getting scared. It didn't know if they just wore the same items day after day, which is disgusting, or if they all had closets full of, like, twenty copies of the exact same outfit, which is just creepy.

**Reviewer Quote(s) of the Week (because there were a bunch of little things that tickled me):**

Maybe the prof should send them on a trip with not that much food, maybe it'd change their minds..But then again, that could get him in trouble... (Cybernetic Mango)

Logan and Remy fishing. Now that's a catch, lol. (cartoonfire)

I wish that Remy would stop doing stupid things. (LadyMageLuna)

_This chapter is dedicated to **cartoonfire**, who inspired it with this line from her review back in chapter 8: "I'm glad Wolverine is seeing the side of Gambit that Rogue's sees, the one that has been hurt and still has wounds that haven't healed." Nothing literal from that, just got the wheels rolling._

And on to the story... So, you know who we haven't heard from in quite a while? Rogue. Yeah, sister's been quiet for some time now. Let's check in with her, shall we?

* * *

_**Chapter Thirteen: Scar Tissue**_

It scared her, if she really thought about it, how much she loved him. She shouldn't love him, _anyone_, quite like this. It was unhealthy. Codependence, that was what it was called. Although, maybe that was too harsh. But the reality was, she loved him, desperately, achingly, and not just despite all his flaws and dysfunctions, which were numerous, but _because_ of them.

Stockholm Syndrome. Savior complex. There had to be a disorder that would encapsulate the madness behind her feelings for him. She was smart enough to know that this sort of devotion was a bad idea. She was setting herself up for heartache. The guy was messed up. She was messed up. Eventually, the whole thing would end badly and she'd be left with nothing but a whole new set of emotional scars.

Or, more accurately, she _would _be, if she planned on ever letting him go. Clearly that wasn't the case.

She tried not to dwell on these types of thoughts, but it was hard at times like this. Rogue was sitting on his bed, a forgotten book perched unsteadily in her lap, as Remy lay sprawled out next to her on his stomach, the large expanse of his bare, muscular back calling out for her attention in all its half-naked glory.

She had been doing her homework, taking advantage of the privacy his room afforded on a lazy Saturday afternoon, before he had come in after his informal Danger Room session. He and Logan had had it out. It was a few days coming. There had been an argument over something, though no one really remembered what had actually started it. That was the thing with those two; they had a precarious relationship. Chummy one minute, at each other's throats the next. They were just too similar for their own good, as Rogue had pointed out on more than one occasion. Remy seemed to have a penchant for that type of relationship. But whatever the issue behind the two men's argument, it didn't really matter. It was the same old same old. Logan, being Logan, had felt the need to assert his authority. And Remy, being Remy, had felt the need to assert his independence. Same old song and dance. '_And a-one…_' Rogue had thought with a roll of her eyes as she watched them bicker.

That was three days ago. What had started as snippy comments and under-the-breath name-calling had slowly escalated to angry growls and sharp jabs. The stupid thing was that neither man even remembered why they were fighting. When they began shoving each other around the kitchen during that Saturday morning's breakfast, Xavier stepped in. He told them point blank that if they insisted on solving their problems with violence, instead of discussing it like_ adults _(clearly the Professor had intended for that part to successfully subdue the two. It didn't work), they could at least do it in the Danger Room, where the conditions could be controlled. Both Remy and Logan had thrilled at the idea. They needed to spill some blood.

It was downright childish.

The two had promptly headed towards the Danger Room, locking the doors to the control room behind them, effectively keeping out the excited teens who had followed them, hoping to witness one hell of a bloodbath. Rogue, however, had not been a part of the throng. She could think of better things to do with her time than watching the love of her life and the man she had come to view as a father duke it out in what was essentially a violent pissing match.

When Remy had stumbled into his room several hours later, he was a bloody mess, and his entire face was basically one big bruise. Lucky for him he was just so damn good-looking, he could almost pull off the whole black-and-blue-and-puffy-all-over look. In fact, if Abercrombie and Fitch put him on a poster in his current condition, he'd probably start a trend. Teen-aged boys around the country would be putting on their factory-distressed jeans and faux-vintage t-shirts before bashing their heads on the bathroom counter repeatedly and heading off to school. It was just stupid enough to be hip.

Rogue looked up from the book she was reading as he leaned against the open doorframe for a moment, catching his breath.

"So," she started, giving him a once-over with an arched brow, "the fight's over?"

He closed his eyes and let his head flop back against the frame. "Fight's ova'."

She smirked at him from her place on the bed. "Now, which fight are we talkin' about? The one in the Danger Room, or the one with all the male posturing?"

He shrugged half-heartedly, his eyes still closed. "Both."

She couldn't help but laugh a little as he groaned, slowly peeling himself from the door and shuffling towards the bed with half-lidded eyes. "Should I even ask who won?" she chuckled.

"Damn healing power," he muttered, a small smile curling at the edge of his lips. He stopped at the foot of the bed. "I got some good hits in, t'ough. Would 'ave beat 'im if we were playin' wit' reality-rule."

'Reality-rule' had been put into place when Remy joined the team. None of the other students could come close to beating Logan on skill alone, so it hadn't come up before, but Remy was a highly trained _Savate _fighter. For regular training, a rule was made that Remy would be named victor if during a sparring match they reached a point where, if not for his healing factor, Logan would be down for the count. However, in a grudge match there were no rules, and it usually ended the same way: Remy would knock him down, Logan would keep getting up, and so on and so on until the young Cajun eventually tired out or lost too much blood or had too many black patches in his vision from too many hits to the head to see properly, and he'd relinquish the match to the feral man.

He began slowly pulling off his shirt, a pained expression on his face as he inched the material up, and Rogue let out an involuntary gasp when she beheld his torso.

"Remy!" If she had thought his face looked worse for wear…

He chuckled lightly as he pulled his shirt the rest of the way over his head. "Yeah… dat adamantium skeleton really packs a punch." He tossed the shirt on the ground and reached up to gingerly touch his side, wincing slightly with the contact. "T'ink he mighta cracked a rib o' two."

She put her book down. "I'll call up Hank, then--"

"_Non, non_," he protested before she could reach for the phone. He carefully climbed onto the bed and began slowly crawling towards her. "'m fine. I jus' wanna sleep."

"Remy."

He ignored her scolding as he plopped himself down on his stomach next to her, his face smashed inelegantly into the covers with his arms and legs spread out haphazardly on the bed. He closed his eyes. "I go later, _d'accord_? 'm tired now… gonna sleep…"

She watched in silent awe as his breathing slowed to a steady rate. Less than 30 seconds and he was out cold.

This was the man she was in love with. The man who got a sick sense of emotional release from getting the shit beat out of him. Yeah, there was definitely something wrong with her.

She had tried to pull her focus back on her book, but it was hard with him lying there next to her. Eventually, she gave in, allowing herself to watch the gentle rise and fall of his back as he breathed, taking in the myriad of scars that patterned his body. That, if anything, was exactly what he was: scarred.

And maybe her infatuation with him wasn't as complicated as she was making it out to be. In fact, she might just be less interesting than she gave herself credit for. Apparently, she had a thing for wounded bad-boys. She was into damaged goods. That wasn't so crazy. It wasn't exactly healthy either, but they could make it work. After all, someone had to take care of the broken people. Even emotionally-disfigured souls need someone to spend their life with.

That was it. Without really realizing it, she'd begun to plan her life around him.

Before Remy, she'd had plans. Or, more accurately, a plan. She was going to travel the world, alone, without the X-men. Without anyone. She wanted to see Europe, maybe a little bit of Asia. She'd done her research and everything. Saved some money. After graduation, she planned on taking the first flight out to London and backpacking it from there. Sure, it was sort of granola and more than a little cliché, but she was going to do the whole Youth Hostel thing. The sleeping-on-a-park-bench thing. Crisscross the continent with a dime and a smile. Maybe not the smile. And she would write. That's what she really wanted to do, to write. But most importantly, she would be alone. Totally, completely alone. Just Rogue and her mind. Well, Rogue, her mind, and anyone who happened to live in there at the time. That she couldn't control. But the rest… the rest would be perfect. She would finally be free of the horribly suffocating obligation of social interaction. She would be free to go days on end without talking to another human being, free to sit back and take in the world. Just a quiet observer with a pen and a pad of paper. She wouldn't have to try anymore, wouldn't have to work to put on a face, a persona, figure out exactly who she thought she was and present it in package form for everyone to see. She could simply be herself, whoever that was, or wasn't.

But now there was Remy, and suddenly being alone didn't sound so appealing. Maybe that was because all those things that had made being alone seem like a much needed breath of fresh air, she already had with him. She didn't have to try with him. She was just herself, whoever that was, or wasn't. And that was all that she had really wanted.

She'd thrown out the youth hostile brochures, donated the backpacking books to charity. Yeah, maybe they could do Europe together one day, but with him along for the ride, there'd be no reason to go the whole hippy route. If she wasn't going to be alone, she'd prefer to see Europe from the window of a 5-star hotel. Seemed more Remy's style, as well. He grew up living on the streets, and she seriously doubted he would see the romanticism in pretending to be homeless in a foreign country.

She continued to observe the mess of scars that adorned his long, narrow body, physical evidence of the heavy hand life had dealt him. He really had had a messed up childhood. She thought she had issues. She'd been trained to be a terrorist and been lied to for as long as she could remember. But in reality, she didn't know it was all a lie until recently. Ignorance is bliss, right? And all the training -- the martial arts classes, the gymnastics, the physical and mental conditioning -- if not for the sinister motivation, it wasn't any worse than what you would expect from an overenthusiastic stage parent. Her childhood trauma, it was something, but it was the kind of something that drove a person to an eating-disorder. Remy's trauma was the type that drove a person to heavy-drug use. Or worse. Considering everything he'd been through, he was amazingly well-adjusted. Yes, he had problems. He drank too much. He was sensitive. He had a good deal of pent-up aggression. Sometimes _not_-so-pent-up aggression. He was flighty, he scared easy. But he was trying. And he loved her, even though he had a hard time saying it. It had been months, since before his stabbing. But she knew how he felt, even without the words. She could see it in the way he looked at her, like a drowning man being pulled to the surface for a lung-filling breath of air. It made her sad, that he was so desperate for affection and emotional-intimacy that he had turned to _her_ of all people, probably the worst candidate possible. Even still, that look of longing and desperation that he gave her just made Rogue's heart cry out for him all the more, solidifying her need to be his personal savior.

Of course, she hadn't abandoned all her post high school plans. She was smart enough to leave herself a few options. That's right. She was in love, not _stupid_.

She hadn't told him when she'd applied to colleges. She didn't really know how to say it, how to phrase it in just that right way that wouldn't scream to him '_this is where I'm going when we don't work _out', because that wasn't it. That wasn't it at all. In fact, she'd applied to Tulane and LSU, among other places, just in case his exile was lifted and he wanted to return home. But mostly, she had applied to schools merely to see what would happen. To see if she could get in. To have that option, if she wanted it. She was pretty sure that she did not want to run off to college right away, no matter where she got accepted, if anywhere, and no matter what their relationship status was. That had never been a part of the original plan anyway. This was just a backup. Or, more accurately, a fun little 'what if'. At most, a place to defer admittance to until after she'd had whatever adventure she planned on having.

On the encouragement of the school's guidance councilor, she had applied to some fairly big ones. What the hell, right? Berkeley, Columbia, Chicago, Cornell, Brown, NYU… Surprisingly, she was accepted. By all of them. Every university she applied to, even the Louisiana schools. That had been a shock. One hell of a shock, actually. Ironically, the acceptance packets had all arrived on the same day. The mailman had to bring them to the front door, this huge stack of thick manila envelopes. She thought her heart might stop as he placed the pile in her arms, the weight of her potential future now heavy in her hands, quite literally. Never in a million years would she have predicted this. Her grades were good, yes, great even. But she wasn't anything special. She wasn't Jean. She didn't have that shiny Ivy-League resume of high school achievements. Sure, the letter of recommendation from her English teacher was fairly complimentary, and the written pieces she submitted had merit. Her application essays must have done it, though looking back she didn't recall them being the best work she'd ever put out. Or maybe she just wasn't giving herself enough credit.

And now she had this big secret. She was trying _really _hard to make it **not** this big secret. She had rehearsed it several times over the past two weeks, how she was going to go about telling Remy. Even now, sitting on his bed and watching him sleep, she contemplated just waking him up and saying "Hey, Swamp Rat, guess what? I applied to a bunch of pretty big universities, and I got accepted. By all of them! I don't plan on going, but isn't that a kick in the head?". It always seemed so simple in her head, but actually saying it was something different. The fact that she hadn't ever even _mentioned_ college made it this big… thing. She really should have said something all those months ago when she had applied. How hard would it have been? "Go out to a movie with you tonight, Remy? Gosh, I'd love to, but I've got some forms to fill out. What forms? Oh, just some college applications. It's no big deal, I just thought it'd be fun to see what happens. How about tomorrow night instead?". It would have been cake. But back then she had just felt like keeping it to herself, and at the time, it didn't seem like a betrayal. They didn't tell each other everything. Now, however, things were different. Sure, they still didn't tell each other _everything_. She had no idea about the schedule of his bowel movements, and he didn't keep track of every one of her daily activities, but they were closer. This was something he should definitely know about, and it felt wrong that she was keeping it from him. She just didn't know how to break the news. There was some time involved now, and it could come off as a deliberate slight. And what to do with the acceptance packets? She couldn't hide them; as if not telling him about the whole thing in the first place wasn't bad enough, specifically hiding the evidence made her guilty as hell. So she kept them out, but said nothing. They were just sitting there, still, on top of her desk. He'd been in her room since then, but if he had seen them, he hadn't said anything. A part of her hoped he would. "What's that?" she imagined him saying, giving the pile a bored glance. "Oh, those?" she would respond with an air of nonchalance. "Just some acceptance letters. Didn't I mention that? Yeah, I applied to some colleges on a whim, and what do ya know, I got in. Wanna make out with tongues?"

So maybe it wouldn't be as easy as she was hoping.

He moaned lightly, breaking her from her reverie as he shifted in his sleep. He was having another nightmare. He had them a lot. It was something they had in common; they both had crappy sleeping patterns. And neither one of them wanted to talk about it. She had forced it out of him a few times, and he'd gotten it out of her. Once. They were good for each other like that.

He continued to toss, his brows furrowing in his sleep as he moaned softly. Apparently, it was a bad one. She watched as he turned fitfully onto his back, his eyes still shut, his breathing becoming erratic. She contemplated waking him up, but she knew from experience that sometimes even the worst dreams can end up with a happy ending, if you let them get there. She decided to give his nightmare a chance to run its course.

Staring down at his now exposed arms, she took in the mass of scars, not just the mess that was his right hand, but the smaller web of faded lines that ran up both forearms like a jumbled road map. Souvenirs from the times he'd held things too close and held on for too long. He'd learned from his mistakes. With years of training, he'd conditioned himself to never let anything too close, to take them in and then throw them away before he got hurt. It was the same with people. He was a regular psychology thesis. Not that she was any better. Her mutation had taught her to avoid contact all together, to keep people at arms length at all times. Never let anyone in. Yeah, together they were a real piece of work.

All this psychology stuff, she's been figuring it out in her sessions with Xavier. Oh yeah, that was another thing. She was working with the Professor again. She wanted control. She was done being angry; she did that, the whole angry-teen thing. The insecure-goth thing. The stay-the-hell-away-from-me thing. She was done with that. She'd grown out of it, grown past it. Tossed out the black eye shadow and purple lipstick. She was ready to learn, ready to stop controlling everything else and simply let go, controlling only herself. What was that old serenity prayer? '_God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference._' That's where she was. It felt pretty damn good.

But she had a lot of work to do. Quite frankly, she was a mess. Her control, or lack there of, was a emotional response, as far as the Professor could see. Damn that Mystique, she and Irene had really done a number on her. Between the whole phony skin condition, the aggressively high expectations, and the emotionally-distant parenting, it was hard-wired into Rogue's system to push people away. So she was working with Xavier to rework that system. Break down the barriers, brick by brick. She was making progress, but it was going to take some time. As much as she wanted that physical relationship with Remy, she just wasn't ready. She had a feeling that even if she didn't have her mutation, she would still have a hard time with all that. But she was making progress. She was trying.

She hadn't told Remy about the sessions, but this one was more of a surprise than a secret. She wanted to save it until she had something to show for all her hard work. Right now, it was so new, and everything was still in the initial stages. Her emotions about the whole thing were still raw, and it would just be another issue for them to fight about.

That was the last thing they needed. They bickered constantly. Never over anything big, not make or break arguments, but they were both passionate people. They were destined to clash. She had a wicked quick temper, and he just loved to push her buttons. He could be oversensitive, and when she would inadvertently hurt his feelings, he would go off and sulk or drink too much or get himself hurt in the Danger Room in that passive-aggressive way of his, and that would just piss her off. That's just the kind of couple they were. If she could touch, they would probably be doing it like rabbits. All that passionate emotion, it has to come out some way. Hot make-up sex, that's what they'd be about. She'd get pregnant in no time, unplanned for sure. Yeah, they'd be _that_ couple. Not the couple that breaks up over it, no, not them. The ones that stay together. And keep at it. They'd have five kids before she turned 25 and they'd still be feeling each other up around the breakfast table. Just another reason not to touch Remy. Best not to open up that can of worms until they were ready to handle it.

He continued to toss and turn next to her, his breathing fast and erratic, until suddenly his body jerked and his eyes popped open.

"_Non_!" he gasped as he awoke.

She quickly put her book down on the bedside table and turned towards him. "Remy, sugah?"

His head snapped in her direction, his eyes wild as he caught her gaze. "_Chère_?"

"Yeah, I'm right--oh!" Before she could finish her sentence, he sat up and turned to her more quickly than he had been moving before his nap ('_He's gonna be regrettin' that in an hour'_) and crushed her in a desperate embrace.

"'m sorry… 'm so sorry…" he mumbled as he buried his face into her shoulder. It was scary having him so close with so much skin exposed, but she didn't dare pull away. He was still clearly out of it, still partway under the spell of whatever dream he'd been having, and he was trembling.

"Shhh… it's okay, baby, I'm here," she soothed.

He pulled his head up, looking into her eyes with a wild, half-clouded gaze. "Dis is real," he breathed. He cast eyes down, swallowing heavily. "It's _real_."

She had no idea what he was talking about, but it didn't matter. He needed her.

She touched her gloved finger to his cheek, lightly trailing a line down his defined features. "I know, baby, I know."

She held him tighter as he dropped his head back down to her shoulder, his breathing slowing down, evening out. He was coming out of it. In that moment, that small, anticlimactic moment, her love for him didn't feel quite so dysfunctional. It just felt right. Whatever they were, whoever they were, separate or apart, they were good for each other. No, they weren't perfect. They weren't perfect people and they weren't a perfect couple. They were both scarred. There were plenty of issues between them. But she was working through her demons, and she was willing to help him work through his.

And maybe that wasn't so crazy after all.

* * *

So, I've been doing some reading, and did you know that some authors out there don't beg for reviews at the end of their chapters? Yeah, they totally just put the story out there and leave it at that.

That's so classy.

*throws self down on the floor dramatically, clutching the readers' ankles* PLEASE REVIEW MY STORY!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!! I'M BEGGING YOU! *breaks down into sniveling, snotty tears* FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY, JUST PRESS THAT DANG REVIEW BUTTON AND SAY _**SOMETHING!!**_

*cough* please?


	14. Failure and Success

**Disclaimer: Sigh. This is a long chapter. I just have nothing interesting to say here. I own nothing.**

So, two quick notes to begin the chapter with:

1. Some of you were curious about Remy's dream from last chapter. It was planned out, but in the end I decided not to put the explanation in. However, if you are still curious, I've put a short descriptive at the bottom of my profile, so go check it out.

2. To ease the worries of those readers who grow concerned when it takes me a bit to get a new chapter out, I've started adding little notes at the top of my profile updating you all on the progress of the latest chapter. That way you can all rest assure that I'm not just going to abandon this sucker if something comes up and it takes me a few extra days to update. Best to keep everyone informed, eh?

**Reviewer Quote of the Week:** from _**Randirogue**_

_...since it's mostly been Remy with the drama and uber issues, not to mention the big mistakes, I'm wondering if Rogue is going to foul up something, something big enough that they have to struggle through. Like a storm waiting to break wide open. A peel of thunder. A crack of lightning. And shabang, sheets of rain just pelting down. Hard enough to mask the other side of the front lawn let alone the storm front.  
Okay, maybe I'm being dramatic now.  
Then again, this is the girl, who in the comics, left him alone and injured in antarctica..._

RR, that just cracked me up! And perhaps you may be right, but, of course, in a waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay less dramatic fashion. Not that we don't all love the drama, cuz we do, right?

This chapter (the longest in Normal history!) is dedicated to **Irual**. Here, I've brought up the dang subject, so shut up now and give me my damn cookies!! *insert big cheesy grin here*

* * *

_**Chapter Fourteen: Failure and Success**_

Remy LeBeau was** not** getting a dog.

He stared at the paper in his hands, letting the words sink in fully. Failed. He had failed.

_Dear Mr. LeBeau, the results of your General Educational Development_ _test have been tabulated by the New York State Education Department. We regret to inform you that you have received a __**failing**__ mark on the test. Please see the chart below for the complete scoring results of your test. If desired, you may retake the test no less than three weeks from the original date of examination. However, it has already been determined that you are nothing more than a worthless loser with no reputable skill to offer your fellow man, but if you would like further proof of your inadequacy, by all means, step up the plate once again…_

He crumpled up the paper in frustration, not wanting to read anything else, and certainly not while standing in the middle of the main foyer. _Of course _the letter had to come today, of all days. That was just his luck. He shoved the crumpled ball into his coat pocket with a little more force than necessary.

Failed. He couldn't believe it. Or, really, he could, and that just pissed him off all the more. He should have been expecting this. It shouldn't have come as such a shock. The fact that he was not only an uneducated idiot but a _clueless _idiot as well just added insult to injury.

The truth was, he hadn't been ready to take the test. Not quite. He was close, yes, but he hadn't even made it all the way through his GED prep packet. He should have taken a practice test, at the very least, as the Professor had suggested. But all those things took time, and time was something that he saw slipping through his fingers like a million grains of sand.

Rogue had been accepted to college. Not just college, colleg**es**. Fairly prestigious ones, from what he gathered. This wasn't a huge surprise; Rogue was an amazingly intelligent girl. She had a quick wit. She was a hard worker, too, and got perfect grades. It was just who she was. Obsessively controlled. Didn't let herself slip on anything. He knew she liked to think of herself as laid back, like she didn't give a damn about school or academics or any sort of public institution, but anyone who looked close enough could see that she actually took great pride in her scholastic achievements. As she should, in his opinion. He was proud of her, too, more than he thought he would be, actually. He got a little emotional when he thought about it, all that she had accomplished even with all the shit that she had to go through. She'd been forced to repeat her senior year, what with the whole Apocalypse incident, and even after all that she was graduating top of her class with her choice of top-rated university to attend after high school.

And she hadn't told him about it. Never said a thing. Not one damn word. The acceptance packets had been sitting on her desk for almost a month and a half, and she hadn't mentioned them. She never even told him that she was applying.

It's not like it was a big secret; the packets were just sitting there out in the open. He had discovered them one day when he went into her room with her, leaning against her desk patiently as she rummaged in her closet for a pair of shoes. He swallowed his shock upon seeing them and waited for her to mention it when she emerged from the closet with her boots in hand. She didn't. He had snuck back into her room the following morning after she left for school, just to confirm that they were, in fact, real. They were. Eight college acceptance packets, all piled together in a neat little stack. Getting accepted into college, (correction: colleg**es**) seemed like a big deal to him, and it probably was. Just, apparently, not something that was worth telling him. He just didn't factor into the equation. She was moving on. Without him.

When he'd found out about the colleges, he had started to freak. Yes, clearly, she was moving on, and if he wanted to stick with her, he had better keep up. He talked to the Professor about where and when he could take the GED test. Xavier provided him the information, but advised Remy to make sure he was fully prepared, not to jump the gun. The young Cajun had held back for a little while, studying furiously, until the day that Rogue arrived home from school with her graduation cap and gown. That sort of pushed him over the edge. He panicked. Immediately he registered for an examination that weekend, practice test be damned.

The results really shouldn't have been such a surprise. He knew as soon as he left the testing center that he hadn't exactly aced the thing. It was the first standardized written test he had ever taken in his life, and he was completely unprepared. He made all the typical stupid mistakes that most average school-children learn to avoid, as he found out from Kitty afterward (Remy didn't talk to Rogue about his uneasiness regarding the test; that would have been way too embarrassing. For some reason Kitty was different. She was an incredibly intelligent girl, but you wouldn't know it by talking to her. Somehow that distinction made his inadequacies seem less humiliating). He let himself get flustered and spent too much time on questions he didn't know the answers to. He probably should have taken the Professor's advice, studied more, talked to Kitty _before_ he took the test. But the thing was, he hadn't felt like he had much of a choice. He was running out of time.

'_Speaking of running out of time…_' he thought to himself as he morosely climbed up the stairs to his room. He sighed as he ascended, running his free hand through his hair with agitation. He'd better start getting himself dressed and ready, or else he was going to be late. These days, getting himself put together seemed to take three times as long, what with only one free hand and a sling to get around.

Ah, the sling. Just more evidence of his complete failure as a useful human being. Although, technically, it was evidence of Scooter's failure, but Remy was in a self-deprecating mood, so he might as well take the blame for that one as well.

Three weeks before, the team finally had their first real mission since everyone had decided to stop hating mutants for no apparent reason. Most of society was still feeling warm and fuzzy after getting their asses saved from Apocalypse by the X-men (or, more accurately, Rogue), but the FOH had been slowly planning a comeback and finally made a move. The Friends of Humanity. Like cockroaches, disco music, and leg warmers, some things just never die. Not completely.

The mutant-hate group had kidnapped a few young Morlocks and were keeping them locked up at their base for heaven-knows _what_ sinister reasons. Very classy. Clearly it wasn't in the captured youths' best interest for the X-men to sit around trying to figure out what the FOH's intentions really were, so the team went in with gun's blazing (figuratively speaking, of course).

The X-men fought a decent fight, and came out victorious, but it was clear that the months without conflict had left them out of shape. The FOH were out of shape as well, which was a good thing; otherwise, the vigilante mutants probably would have gotten their asses handed to them. Surprisingly, the worst of them all was Scott. Mr. Fearless Leader himself. Apparently the burden of balancing his team responsibilities, a full-time girlfriend, and a loaded college schedule was proving to be too much for him. Dude was off his game, in a major way. He was taking hits left and right, and he was sloppy in his recovery. Eventually, some guy in a members-only jacket knocked him good and he lost his footing, slamming into Remy, who wasn't aware that he needed to be defending himself against part-time bigots **and** his team leader.

Under any other circumstance, Scott's accidental assault wouldn't have caused that much damage, but seeing as the two were fighting off the enemy on the roof of the FOH's headquarter, it sent Remy toppling over the edge. Luckily it was only a one-story fall, but as soon as he landed and felt that very distinctive (and painful) *POP*, he knew his right shoulder was dislocated.

Fortunately for him, the fight was over mere moments later. He continued to lie on the ground in agony, the pain in his shoulder nearly unbearable, as he heard police sirens approaching. That was good. The fuzz could gather up the FOH bastards, the X-men could go home, and he could find a nice big rock to crawl under and die.

He really hated dislocating his shoulder. He'd done it before, but each time it amazed him how unbelievably painful it could be. And even more than the unbearable pain, he couldn't stand the unnerving feeling of his arm being out of its socket. If he thought about it too much, he felt like he might lose his stomach.

Rogue and Logan had found him a short time later, still lying on the ground where he had landed and writhing in pain just off from the main fighting.

"Sugah, ya hurt?" Rogue asked as she approached, kneeling down at his side by his good arm.

"Don' touch me!" he spat out instinctively. The only thing worse than having your arm out of the socket was someone _messing_ with your arm while it was out of the socket.

Logan stood over him, his hands shoved in his pockets as he looked Remy over. "Looks dislocated, Gumbo," he grunted.

Remy grimaced, scrunching his eyes closed in pain. "No shit, Logan."

The short, feral man huffed, ignoring the slight. "It's gonna be a bit before Hank can get over here; he's working on the Morlock kids right now. A couple of them are in a bad way. Those bastards had some quack doctor running test on them, some shit like that."

Remy groaned and shook his head. "_Non, non_… I can't wait. Y' gotta fix dis now."

"Remy, baby," Rogue started hesitantly as she stroked the hair back from his face, "there's nothin' we can do."

He bit his lip to keep from crying out as he inadvertently shifted, the small movement causing bolts of pain to shoot down his arm. "Y' gotta pop it back in." He opened his eyes, looking up at Logan. "Y' done dat before?"

Logan nodded. "Yeah, on myself. Trust me, kid, ya don't want me to do that."

Remy groaned in frustration. "I've done it before, I know how bad it hurts, I don' care! I jus' can' stand dis!" One time Henri had to pop his arm back into place while they were out on a job. It hurt like hell, and he nearly blacked out, but at that moment, Remy didn't care. He just wanted his arm back in place before any permanent damage was done. All he could think about was the group of old retired thieves that liked to hang around the headquarters, drinking bourbon and talking about old heists. He remembered coming home with his arm in a sling the second time he dislocated his shoulder. "What dat make, two times now, _garçon_?"

"Oh, y' better watch out, de t'ird one, dat be da charm."

"Dat's right. A shoulder can take it once, maybe even twice, but pop dat baby out t'ree times, an' it's set f' life."

"Trick shoulder, dat's what you'll have. Dis one o' mine, pops in an' out o' place all da time. Dat t'ird time, dat's what did it."

A magical shoulder that popped in and out of place seemingly of its own accord was the last thing Remy wanted.

Logan sighed. "Ya sure, kid? If ya just hold on a little while, Hank'll be here, he'll get ya nice and sedated, and you can sleep through the whole thing."

Remy shook his head vigorously. "_Non_. Do it now."

Logan sighed again, dropping his shoulders. "Alright then, it's your choice." He stepped over to Remy's side, gingerly picking his arm up off the ground. "Now, how do I do this?"

Remy gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut, trying to muster up the power to speak, despite the pain caused by Logan moving his arm. "Y' jus'… jus' put y' foot under m' arm f' traction, an' pull hard 'till y' feel it pop back in place. Den y' gonna wanna turn around, 'cause 'm probably gonna cry--"

"Wait," Rogue interjected softly. Remy opened his eyes and looked up at her before she continued. "Remy, if we could knock y' out right now, would y' want that instead?"

"What y' talkin' 'bout, _Chère_?"

She pulled off one of her gloves, wiggling her fingers for show. "Poison skin. It's cheap, it's convenient, it's better than yer average sedative." She smiled lightly. "And, actually, there's sort of something I've been meanin' ta show ya."

"Stripes," Logan growled warningly.

"_Logan_," she mirrored back, looking up at him with her patented death glare.

The Wolverine sighed before responding. "Alright, just…" He looked away then, shoving his hands back in his pockets with an air of discomfort. "Just keep yer clothes on, okay?"

Remy stared up at him. '_That was… odd._' Granted, the young Cajun's mind might not be functioning properly due to the immense pain he was in, but he was still pretty sure that was an extremely strange comment to make, even for Logan. For one thing, there was no way Rogue was the type of girl to randomly start taking off her uniform in the middle of a public place, but even if she were, how fast did Logan think she could strip? Her powers would knock him out in five seconds at the most. Granted, Remy was an excellent kisser, but he doubted even his illustrious skills could inspire warp-speed undressing.

"Oh lord, Logan," Rogue groaned with a roll of her eyes. "Now, can ya turn around or somethin'? Give a girl some privacy."

Remy furrowed his brow in confusion. This whole exchange was _very _weird.

He watched as Logan obliged Rogue's request, turning to face the opposite direction. Rogue leaned forward, tangling her still-gloved hand in the hair at the base of his neck, gently lifting his head off the ground. He watched her carefully as she looked down, suddenly shy as she bit her lip nervously. She pulled her gaze back up to meet his eyes.

"Hey," she breathed.

He smiled lightly, still confused but not really caring as he felt himself getting lost in the heady rush of her closeness and her sparkling green eyes. "Hey," he answered back.

She lowered her head slowly, closing the distance between them and pressing her soft lips against his. In an instant, his heart leapt and he was euphoric. It had been so long, _so long_, since he had felt those lips in that oh-so-fleeting stolen kiss all those months back. Having been deprived of her for so long, his senses felt like they were on overdrive. He was hyper-aware of the pressure she applied, the moisture between them, the feel of her bare fingers as they caressed the side of his face, the friction as she shifted, kissing him deeper. He couldn't hold back the moan as she slipped her tongue past his lips and into his mouth. _She _was kissing _him,_ and it was incredibly alluring.

After at least a full two minutes of enjoying her taste, his mind was pulled from the moment by the realization that he was still conscious. Wait, that wasn't right, was it? He should have been absorbed twenty times over by that point. That's when he realized it: he was dead. Yep, she had held on too long, and now he was dead. This was Heaven, that's what it was. Of course, if this was Heaven, why did his shoulder still hurt? And why was he still dressed? And where was Rogue's black lace negligee? Apparently, Remy concluded, you still had to work through the whole foreplay phase, even in Heaven.

'_Well, if this is Heaven, we oughta get this show on the road…_' He reached up with his good arm to fondle her breast, but when he placed his hand on the perfect mound, Rogue stiffened unexpectedly as she gasped against his mouth. Suddenly, he felt the familiar pull of her powers, and before he could figure out exactly what was going on, he was out.

When he came to some time later, whatever he was laying on was softer than the ground he had been on last, and the pain in his shoulder was now only a dull ache. He heard voices near him before he had the energy to open his eyes.

"Okay, so, like, why can't we have a TV in _our_ room?"

"I know, right? Supposedly the Swamp Rat qualifies as an 'adult', so he's, quote unquote, _'mature enough to handle the responsibility'. _I think that's supposed ta mean the Professor thinks he won't watch porn in his room or somethin'. Oh my gosh, I love this commercial!"

"I can totally see now why you guys always hang out here instead of in our room. But there's, like, **no** chance he doesn't watch porn on this thing."

"Hey!"

"No offense."

"Whatever, I gotta pee."

"Rogue, like, where are you going?"

"To the bath-- hey, yer right, I can just go here!"

"This is just occurring to you, like, now?"

"Yeah, well, I've never been in his bathroom before."

"What? Why the hell not?"

"Well, I think part of me was afraid, considering what a mess his room is, and another part of me was… I don't know, kind of embarrassed to pee with him on the other side of the door."

"Rogue, that's the stupidest thing you've ever said. Oh my gosh, let's open the door already, I wanna see!"

"Holy crap."

"It's, like, a total spa in here!"

"I can't believe this. I don't even know what half this stuff is!"

"Wow, Rogue, these are some, like, high-end products he's got going on in here."

"My man has more beauty products than I do. I'm not sure what to do with this information."

"Oh my gosh, is that a loofah?"

"Okay Kitty, get out of here, I really gotta pee."

Remy groaned, opening his eyes to find himself lying on the bed in his room, his injured arm strapped into an immobilizer. He caught a small movement out of the corner of his eye.

"It's not a loofah," he mumbled, closing his eyes again.

"Remy, are you awake?" Suddenly, Kitty was at his side.

He blinked his eyes open again. "It's not a loofah," he repeated, this time with a little more force behind the words.

"Oh, uh, okay," Kitty responded.

"It's a… manly scrubbin' t'ing," he clarified.

Kitty raised an eyebrow. "Oh… right. And, like, what about the exfoliant?"

"Manly skin-scrapping lotion."

"And the strawberry-scented body wash?"

He ran his good hand over his face. "Dat's manly… strawberry-scented… uh, body wash."

"Got it," Kitty chuckled. He heard the toilet flush in the distance.

"Listen," he started, closing his eyes, "when y' got a girlfriend as hot as Rogue, an' y' can't touch 'er, y' spend a LOT of time in da bathroom."

_Merde_. Did he really just say that out loud? Remy groaned inwardly. Muscle relaxants. They were like an expressway between the brain and the mouth. There was no censor button when he was doped up.

"_Rogue_?" Kitty called out. "Come out here now, please! Your boyfriend's awake, and he's, like, totally creeping me out!"

Not two seconds after he heard the faucet shut off and the bathroom door open, Rogue's beautiful features entered his vision as she leaned over him.

"Remy, sugah, how ya doin'?" Suddenly, the concerned look on her face was replaced with a scowl. "And why the hell did you start feelin' me up?!"

And that's when she had told him about her sessions with Xavier. She was trying to get control of her powers, and it was working. She explained that if she concentrated on relaxing herself, letting down her emotional barriers and really trusting the other person, she could essentially 'turn off' her defensive mutation. With continued practice and psychological therapy with the Professor, it would get easier over time. She had done a few practice runs with Logan, and now she had been successful in touching Remy, although he had ruined it by getting grabby. In his defense, of course, he had thought he was dead. He really couldn't be blamed for his ungentlemanly behavior. After all, if he had to show restraint, it really wouldn't be Heaven, now would it?

Success. Rogue wanted control, and she was getting it. And he was happy for her-- of _course_ he was happy for her. This was a good thing for him as well. But his own carnal needs aside, he loved her, and he wanted the best for her, wanted her to succeed in everything she endeavored. But thinking back on it, at that moment, standing in the middle of his room trying to button up a dress-shirt one-handed with his other arm in a sling (thankfully he was downgraded from the immobilizer the day before) with his flunking GED scores in his pocket, her successful steps towards achieving the control she so greatly desired just reminded him even more of what a complete failure he was in comparison.

He took the offending paper out of his pocket, giving it one more glance before shoving it in the bottom drawer of his desk, where he hoped a warp in the time/space continuum would open up and swallow it whole. He sighed, picking up his tie and slinging it over his shoulder; he would have to get help tying it. There was just no way he could do that one by himself in his current condition. Logan would have to tie it for him, like he was 10 -years-old or something. How horrifyingly degrading.

This was really turning out to be one hell of a bad day.

He ought to give himself a little credit: he hadn't completely bombed the test. He had passed the science portion, and had actually done quite well in the math section. He was good with numbers and figures, his brain just worked like that. The social studies part was one he hadn't done so hot on. Ask him anything about the history of the Thieves Guild, and he could tell you the names and dates and any other detail you could imagine. Jean-Luc had rammed all that into his brain. Anything outside the Guild, and he was clueless. It was just a lot of facts to memorize in a short amount of time. The Language Arts sections had been his worst. That was Rogue's area, not his. He was an eloquent enough speaker, but try putting that down on paper, and suddenly he didn't know how to put two words together. Comprehension was an issue for him as well. He was great at analyzing numbers, stats, that sort of thing, but the written word was a whole other story. In his defense, English _was_ his second language, but really, that wasn't the reason he'd failed. He had no idea what half the questions were even asking. This was where the practice test would have come in handy.

"**Gumbo, get your ass down here NOW!" **Logan's shout from the floor below ('_damn, that man can yell_') broke him from his reverie. He shoved his feet into a pair of loafers before leaving his room, heading towards the stairs. Logan was waiting for him at the bottom, glaring up at him.

"If we're late," the feral man began menacingly before Remy even reached his side, his voice rising with each syllable, "and Stripes has to look up an' see our empty seats in those bleachers, it'll be on **your** head."

He rolled his eyes. Logan could be such a drama-queen when it came to his 'Stripes'. Remy had no intention of ruining her special day. In fact, he and Kitty had cooked up a little scheme to make it all that more memorable.

Rogue was graduating. The day had finally arrived. At that exact moment she was probably standing off to the side somewhere on the school's football field, avoiding her classmates in her maroon cap and gown, musing to herself about how she only had to put up with the jackasses for a couple more hours, and she'd be home free. Her time was almost up. And his time had run out. There was no use dwelling on his failure now. What was done was done. She was moving on, and it was too late for him to do anything about it.

As if sitting through a two hour ceremony on hard, metal bleachers wasn't agonizing enough, Remy had to endure Kitty's endless questioning as well. The sound of her voice as she continually leaned in to whisper into his ear ('_why the hell did I let her sit next to me, anyway?_') was beginning to grate on his nerves.

"You've got the flowers, right?"

He sighed, resisting the urge to chuck the tiny brunette from the stands with his good arm. "_Chaton_," he hissed back as quietly as he could manage, "y' can see dem sittin' next t' me. _**Yes**_, I got da flowers."

"Okay," she nodded. She paused for only a moment before leaning in and continuing her inquisition. "And you're going to dip her, right? Because, like, you _have_ to dip her."

He gritted his teeth and tried to focus on the back of Rogue's head where she sat on the field below. "Fine, I'll _dip_ her." He wanted to point out the impossibility of him pulling off that particular move with one arm in a sling, but that would simply open up the conversation. "Now, 'xactly how many seconds 'm I supposed t' wait before I grab her ass, _petite_?"

"Gambit!" Kitty's unexpectedly loud outburst earned her more than a few glares from the fellow audience members around her. She smiled sheepishly before turning back to whisper at Remy. "You do anything of the sort and I'll personally tear you to shreds, that is if Logan doesn't get to you first. Do we need to go over the plan again?"

"_Non_!" he snapped back in hushed horror. He sighed. "Listen, _Chaton_, I've been forced t' watch enough o' y' stupid romantic comedies t' know how t' pull off da classic romantic climax, _d'accord_? I go down dere, I give her da flowers, den I sweep her off her feet. 's not exactly rocket science, _hein_?"

"Fine," she huffed before turning her attention back to the field in front of them. "Just make sure it's one hell of a kiss, got it?"

Unfortunately, that was one promise he wasn't sure he could make. He and Rogue had tried it a couple of times over the past few weeks, the whole 'touching' thing, but it was still on shaky grounds. Rogue's control was tenuous at best. Subsequent attempts hadn't lasted as long as that first momentously controlled kiss. Must have been a first-time-charm sort of thing. Since then, she had been successful at holding her mutation at bay for a minute, at most, before she would begin to lose her concentration or tense up and he would feel the slow beginnings of a pull and be forced to let go. It was frustrating, yes, but certainly worth it. He had thought that he was reasonably content with the way things were, not being able to touch her, but now, having had a taste of her skin, he was completely addicted. Whatever little she could give him, he would take it, gladly. He was totally at her mercy, and he had a feeling she sort of enjoyed that.

And now, he and Kitty planned on letting Rogue give her fellow classmates a little show, something of a final 'up yours' for all the taunts of "untouchable" that she had received over the years. Remy figured this was a surprise she would enjoy. Of course, his only worry was that she might not pick up on the come-hither stare he planned on giving her before he moved in for the kill and she'd be unprepared, leaving him an unconscious heap on the football field. That was the _last_ thing he wanted, for her sake more than anything.

As the ceremony ended, caps thrown in the air and everything, Remy's nerves started to get the best of him. There was actually a very good chance that this whole scenario would end badly. Very badly. As he picked up the bouquet of deep-red roses, he began to have second thoughts. Maybe he should just give her the flowers and leave it at that. Or maybe not. Honestly, he was kind of apprehensive about the flowers as well. Flowers, in and of themselves, were a little cliché, and pointless, and he knew Rogue felt the same way. She wasn't exactly into the typical, girlish gestures of affection. But given the event, it seemed like the only appropriate thing to give her. Marching up to her side and presenting her with a copy of 'Grand Theft Auto' just didn't have the same effect.

By the time he made his way down the bleachers with the rest of the crowd heading out to congratulate the graduates, his fears dissipated. The weather suddenly turned, and in his favor. It was almost perfect. Just as he reached the field, a light summer drizzle began, and the majority of the graduating seniors rushed to the sidelines where their friends and family began opening up umbrellas, the throngs of cheerleader-esque bimbos squealing as they attempted to shield their 'graduation hair', leaving his beloved in perfect spotlight. Rogue, of course, was not stupid enough to be scared by a few tiny drops of rain. Standing in the middle of the field, she looked euphoric. She caught his eye, and he couldn't help but break out into a mega-watt smile at the sight of her. She was free; you could see it in her eyes, in the air around her. She was smiling, _really_ smiling. She continued to hold his gaze as he slowly sauntered out to meet her. He could see it there, in her face… she knew he wanted her. And she wanted him, too. In that moment, that almost cinematically-perfect moment, he forgot this was all a part of Kitty's little plan. He just wanted to kiss her, simple as that. She was so happy, so damn happy, and he couldn't be more proud of her if he tried.

He finally reached her, their eyes never leaving each other.

"_Chère_…" he began, offering her the bouquet as she graciously accepted it with a shy smile, "y' really did it, didn't y'?"

She chuckled lightly. "Yeah, I guess I did."

Unable to hold back any longer, he reached for her. With all the passion he felt flowing through his body, he grabbed the back of her neck with his good arm and pulled her to him, kissing her deeply. His heart swelled as she melted into him, wrapping one arm around his neck, her hand in his hair, as the other snaked around his waist, holding him impossibly close as the flowers fell forgotten on the field. The love and pride he felt for her in that moment was only bolstered by the reactions he could hear from her classmates gathered a small ways away.

"I thought she couldn't touch?!"

"See, I told you that motorcycle-guy wasn't, like, her cousin or something."

"Holy crap, is that his tongue?!"

After several scintillating minutes ('_take _that_, battle-field kiss_'), Rogue pulled away for air, still keeping her arms wrapped around him. From the corner of his eye, Remy could see Kitty standing on the sidelines, clutching her hands together in front of her in absolute bliss. Her eyes were so wide with joy and her smile stretched so broad, he feared the tiny girl might literally explode from excitement.

Success.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. He fingered a strand of her white fringe, suddenly compelled to express his feelings for her.

"_Ma Chérie_," he breathed. "I--"

"_Rogue_!" He was suddenly cut off as someone called out to her. She turned towards the direction of the voice, and immediately let go of him, stepping back. He turned to see one of her (now former) teachers walking up to greet her. Apparently Rogue still felt guilty about making-out in front of an instructor, even after graduation.

When the middle-aged blonde woman reached them, Remy recognized her as Rogue's English teacher. From what Rogue had mentioned of the woman, she was fairly supportive. He took a step to the side, feeling out of place as the woman reached out to shake Rogue's hand.

"Congratulations, Rogue! I bet you thought this day would never come, huh?"

Rogue smiled politely. "Hoped it would, at least."

Remy turned away slightly, shoving his free hand in his pocket. He felt awkward, unsure of himself. He was an outsider in this whole 'school' arena.

"So, Rogue," the woman continued, "you never told me what you've decided to do about all those colleges! I assume you've made a decision, haven't you? The acceptance deadlines have to be coming up."

Suddenly, his world felt like it had stopped on its axis, or, at the very least, seemed to get very, very slow. The space around Remy's ears felt hot, and his heart began slamming against the confines of his chest. In that moment, he wanted more than anything to be anywhere but where he was. Even eight feet to the right, and he could reasonably be out of earshot for this horrible, sickening conversation. He turned away another forty degrees, hoping to look like he wasn't listening, couldn't hear.

"Oh, uh… yeah, I made a decision," Rogue stated. Her voice was quivering slightly. Remy closed his eyes. Man, this was awful. "I picked New York." She swallowed. He opened his eyes and caught her glancing at him in the corner of his vision. "I'm deferrin' until January, though. Figured I could use some time off."

"That's great!" the woman responded. "They offered you a scholarship, didn't they?"

Remy felt his breath quickening. He chanced a look in Rogue's direction, and unfortunately caught her eye for a moment before he quickly glanced away. It was clear from her expression that she knew. She knew that he had heard it all.

And now he knew. Officially. And this was the way he was finding out, officially. Damn.

"Yeah," Rogue responded, after a moment's pause that had felt, to him, like an eternity, "just a partial. But Jean an' Scott will be transferrin' there this fall, so we can all commute together and still live at the Institute."

Remy wasn't really listening at this point. He closed his eyes again and tried to steady his breathing. This was all so awful, so horrifying and embarrassing and heartbreaking, he sort of wanted to cry. He looked down and counted blades of grass until the rest of the X-men made their way over to congratulate their teammate.

What followed was awkward. To say the very least. Xavier insisted on taking everyone out to dinner, somewhere nice. It seemed fitting, given the occasion and seeing as they all had on their best attire already.

The worst part was that Rogue seemed to be acting as if nothing was wrong. So maybe it was only awkward and horrible and painful for him. She seemed to be having a grand ol' time, sitting next to him with all the ease in the world, in the car on the ride into town, in the restaurant. She leaned into him slightly, made small talk, all the usual. If anything, she seemed relieved. A little lighter than normal. He must have imagined her apprehension back on the field, because the way she was acting was as if nothing had happened. It was just her graduation day and she was so damn happy. That, or she was a fabulous actress. He couldn't count on that. He was pretty sure he'd always been able to read her quite well, and he never had found that recording of her stage debut.

Remy, on the other hand, had the best poker face in town. And he was trying his hardest not be a jerk about it, not to ruin her big day simply because he was being left behind. Yes, his world was crumbling around him and his heart was slowly breaking, but his smile didn't. He did a good job, playing the part of the supportive boyfriend. But inside, no, that was another story. Inside, he just wanted to find that nice big rock to crawl under and die.

The whole dinner affair was agonizingly long, and by the time the check came and they all gathered up their coats and purses, he was dying for a smoke. And a drink. And a hit. He had tried cocaine once, back when he was sixteen, after the Paris incident. He'd been in a bad way, and the coke had really hit the spot. When Jean-Luc found out about it, however, he put an end to it right away. Alcohol was one thing, even the smoking he could begrudgingly allow, but drugs was another matter. No son of Jean-Luc LeBeau was going to get mixed up in that mess. The Guild had incredible influence in New Orleans, and within 24 hours of the Guild Master's declaration, Remy was cut off completely. Even low-level college dealers at Tulane, preppy students with loans to pay off, knew who he was and refused to sell to him. He only got that one hit, and yet, four years later, he knew that it was just the sort of thing he needed right then. Just something, anything, to numb this aching, demoralizing pain.

When he reached the car door, he knew he couldn't take it. One more second in Rogue's excruciatingly cheerful company and he'd burst at the seams.

"I got an errand t' run," he announced suddenly as he stood in the parking lot. It was a terrible excuse, but it was all he could come up with. "So… uh, I'll jus' walk back, _d'accord_?"

Bobby, stopped halfway into the vehicle, turned and looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. "Dude, it's like a 25 minute walk back from here. Are you serious?"

Strangely, Rogue, standing at his side, said nothing. Thankfully, before the Professor or Logan could voice their obvious concerns, Jean piped in.

"Why don't you take Scott's car, Remy?" The redhead turned to her boyfriend. "That's fine, right Scott? We can just squeeze into the van."

Scott looked horrified, and Remy groaned internally. Either he was projecting, which he seriously doubted seeing as Xavier seemed to still be in the dark, or the younger telepath had pried. Normally, his mental shields would be strong enough to keep her out. But tonight he was distracted, and Jean, apparently, was nosey.

Scott sighed, noting the pointed look that his girlfriend was giving him, and reluctantly agreed. He paused as he handed over the keys. "Just don't grind the clutch, okay." He hesitated again. "And use the emergency brake." He got up close to Remy's face. "And don't, I repeat, **don't** scratch the paint." Finally, he dropped the keys into Remy's outstretched hand.

An eternity later, and after an extremely awkward (for him) farewell with Rogue in which he promised to be home soon, he was finally left alone in the parking lot. He took a moment to let out the dejected sigh that he had been holding in for the past couple of hours before climbing into Scott's convertible and heading towards the town's liveliest club.

Sitting at the bar with a bourbon in his hand, he let himself get very, very sad. This had been a very hellish day. He had found out just how much of a loser he really was, and Rogue had given him one big kiss-off.

With a bit of alcohol working its way through his system, he could almost be a little offended by her actions. Or maybe more than a little. Hell, what was he to her, exactly, if she didn't feel the need to inform him of her major life choices? What, was he just some sort of high school phase, the guy she hung out with before she went on with the rest of her life, made something of herself, fell in love, got married? Or maybe, and more accurately, he was just a little bad-boy fling. She'd gone slumming, that was it. Sure, she loved him, but she wasn't going to let some piece of trash from the wrong side of the tracks dictate the path of her life. She loved him, but she wasn't going to ruin her future over him. Not that he could entirely blame her. He couldn't even pass the GE-freakin-D.

What hurt the worst was that she clearly didn't need him, and knowing that he needed her more than he had ever needed anything in his life. He had seen this coming, all those months ago, but he wanted to give it a try anyway. He was a masochist, clearly. He had set himself up for this.

He stared into his empty glass for a minute, contemplating that thought. No, that wasn't completely it. He'd had hope, that's all. He had hoped that things would work out. That Rogue would need him. But she didn't. Well, that was fine. Or, really, it wasn't fine, but there wasn't anything he could do about it, so it would _have_ to be fine, like it or not. If she didn't need him, then he wouldn't need her. This didn't have to hurt so much.

The next thing he knew, he was holed up in the club's bathroom, pressing Candi, or Cindi, something with a 'c' and an 'i', up against the wall and devouring her furiously. Her shirt was off, as was his, and she was groping at the front of his pants with one hand as she fumbled with his belt buckle with the other. He wasn't exactly sure how he got here, when he had made the decision to do this. Had he?

As he began grinding his hips into hers, sucking on her neck as she panted into his ear, he thought back on the past twenty minutes. He wasn't all that drunk, two bourbons, maybe three. When had he decided to do this? Was it when the woman approached him at the bar? When they shared a drink, a laugh? When they danced together on the floor, writhing against one another to the rhythmic beat? He barely remembered all that, and it had just happened. No, he didn't recall making a decision anywhere in there.

As Cindi/Candi finally had success with his belt buckle, he was suddenly brought back to reality. This was wrong. What he was doing was wrong. It wasn't fair, not to Rogue. She was hurting him, but it wasn't deliberate. She was just living her life, going on without him, not allowing him to bring her down. But this was different. He'd had a bad day, he'd failed his test, he was feeling hurt and lost and left behind, and he was overreacting. This was wrong. This was wrong, this was wrong , this was wrong.

Finally, his limbs caught up with his brain and snapped into action, pushing the girl away gently.

"_Je suis désolé_…" he muttered, stepping back, "_mais_, I can't do dis."

She leaned back against the wall, catching her breath. "Oh." She looked at him for a moment. "_Oh_."

She knew what he meant. That was always the way. They both awkwardly gathered their shirts and redressed themselves. Women always knew, and he was always in the dark. He grabbed his coat and left the bathroom as quickly as possible, leaving the woman behind as she smoothed down her skirt.

He didn't stop until he made it out to the parking lot and into Scott's car. He paused then, sitting in the driver's seat with the keys in his hand, and contemplated what he had done.

He had just cheated. He couldn't believe it.

He had never done that. Of course, fidelity had never been expected of him before; he and Belladonna were not exactly a monogamous couple, if you could even call them a 'couple'. But with Rogue, it was expected. Remy had made a promise to himself that he would be faithful to her, that he had it in him.

He had failed.

As he drove back the Institute, he could feel his heartbeat behind his ears and tears threatening at the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away. He had taken his arm out of the sling so he could drive Scott's stick shift, and now his shoulder was killing him. Hank would kill him, when he found out. He desperately needed a pain pill. And a good night's sleep. And to wake up again that same morning and do the whole day over again.

The drive back home didn't take nearly long enough, twelve minutes tops. He sat in the car for a few minutes longer after he parked in the garage and tried to pull himself together. He _had _to pull himself together. Maybe he could salvage this relationship after all. Rogue had mentioned something about staying at the Institute. That was good thing. She wouldn't be physically moving away. Of course, she would be off at college every day, having new experiences, learning new things, meeting new people, living a new life, while he sat around the mansion trying to remember the date of the Battle of Antietam.

Really, though, it probably didn't matter what she did with her life, seeing as she most likely wouldn't even look at him again once she found out what he had done that night.

Eventually, he put his arm back in the sling and made his way inside. As he walked down the hall towards the stairs, he could hear laughter and music coming from the rec room. Apparently the younger mutants were still celebrating Rogue's success. He hoped to slip past unnoticed, but Rogue called out to him from her position on the couch as soon as he walked past the opening to the room.

"Rems! Come hang with us!" She paused, her smile fading as she looked him over. "Somethin' wrong?"

'_Merde_', he thought to himself. He must look as crappy as he felt. He paused in his journey towards the stairs for a moment, resting his good hand against the wall lightly for support.

"'m fine, _Chère_…" he lied. He thought about for a second, and then added, "Actually, no, 'm not. M' shoulder's hurting pretty bad. I t'ink 'm just gonna head upstairs an' take a pill… knock out f' da night. If dat's okay." At least now it wasn't a complete lie. His shoulder really _did_ hurt.

Rogue's brow furrowed in concern. "Yeah, Rems, that's fine. Ya want me ta come up with ya?"

"_Non, non_," he answered immediately, "'m fine, really. Y' stay here. Don' wanna spoil y' party."

He left before she could respond, heading up the stairs to his room as fast as his feet would carry him. As soon as he had the door closed behind him, he rushed straight into the bathroom and downed three of the prescription pain pills Hank had given him. The medication usually made him drowsy, and he hoped tonight that it would knock him out cold. He just wanted to go to sleep and stop feeling lousy and guilty and worthless and tired. He striped down to his boxer briefs and promptly tossed his clothes straight into the hamper. Hopefully he'd be able to launder out the smell of the club, Candi's perfume, and the imminent adulterous sex before Rogue noticed.

After thirty minutes of lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, he felt the medication kick in. Mercifully soon after that he was pulled into a deep and dreamless slumber.

"Remy?"

He was awoken by the soft sound of Rogue's voice. He opened his eyes, his unique eyesight adjusting easily to the dark of his unlit room. Sitting up, he found her perched next to him on the side of the bed.

"Chère, wha…" He blinked his eyes a few times. The medication was still in his system, making him slightly loopy, but it wasn't pulling him back to sleep. "What time 's it?"

She looked sheepish in the dark. "A little past three. I couldn't sleep."

He cleared his throat. "No?"

"I just…" She moved in closer then, crawling on the bed until she was sitting on it fully at his side. She looked down for a moment before bringing her head up, catching his gaze. "Ya know I love you… right?"

He swallowed. "Yeah. I do."

They were silent for a moment, and the voice in his head was screaming at him to _tell her_, tell her about everything. His test, the colleges, the club, everything. He needed to, she needed to know. But just as he was about to open his mouth, to say it all, she leaned forward suddenly and kissed him.

This kiss was unlike any of the other kisses she had given him. It wasn't short, it wasn't sweet. It was desperate, and needy, and longing. She moved into him, never breaking contact as she crawled forward to straddle him, wrapping her arms around him. As he kissed her back, that voice in his head continued to scream at him. He shouldn't be kissing her, knowing he had been doing the exact same thing with someone else only hours before. This was wrong, she should know. He should stop right now and tell her, tell her everything, but he couldn't. She was so beautiful and so close, and the way that she was kissing him… she needed him. He could feel it in her desperation, the way she clung to him, the way she melded her tongue around his. And he needed her to need him. He needed it so badly, he couldn't possibly let go. The way she was kissing him was like putting oxygen into his lungs. He held her just as tightly, kissed her back just as desperately. He was so very aware that she was straddling him, that they were on his bed, that it was dark. He wanted to take her then, to make her his, to join their bodies together and solidify that they **needed** each other and belonged to each other and that was never ever going to change.

He felt it then, the beginnings of a slow pull. Her powers were kicking in, and he should really let go, but he couldn't. Surprisingly, she didn't let go either, just continued kissing him with that aching desperation. She had to be trying to hold her mutation at bay, because the absorption didn't knock him down in an instant. It was a slow drain, and even as he felt his energy being pulled from his body, he couldn't let go. Not as long as she was kissing him like that. She needed him. She could kill him now for all he cared, as long as he knew she loved him again. His heart had been slowly breaking over the past few weeks, but in that kiss he felt mended again. He held on with everything he had until the moment that her powers overtook him completely, and the world sunk beneath him and he fell away into nothingness.

When he came to, it was light in his room. He blinked cautiously, the sudden burst of brightness almost painful to his eyes.

"Remy?! Remy, are ya awake?"

Her voice was right by his side, but she didn't reach out to him. He opened his eyes fully and turned to her. She was sitting beside his bed, having pulled his desk chair over to his side. He looked at her face… _Merde_, she looked awful. Her cheeks were tear-stain, her eyelids red and puffy from crying, and her eyes-- he held back a gasp as he took in the sight before him.

She had his eyes, red on black. He had always thought it might be kind of sexy to see his eyes on her, but in reality, it was horrifying. As if he had taken all that was good in her and swallowed it up, turning her into the monster that he was, _le diable_. He hated it. He looked down, unable to stand the sight of what he had done to her.

"What… what happened?" he managed to mutter.

Her breath caught for a moment before she answered with a shaky voice. "Remy, I'm… I'm so sorry. I absorbed you. I didn't mean to, I just… I wanted ta be with you, ta be close to you, ta touch you. But I was worried, and scared, and I thought maybe--" She cut herself off then, pausing slightly. He continued to stare down at his sheets. "No, that doesn't matter. The point is, I wasn't in the right mind ta be touchin' you. I wasn't calm or ready, but I did it anyway."

She sighed. "Remy, it's almost five o'clock at night. You've been out for almost a whole day. I… could have killed ya…" He looked up at her finally when she paused. She had started crying again. "I'm so sorry, Remy… and I… I don't think I should try touchin' you for a while." She took a deep breath, calming herself. "Clearly, I'm not ready ta be doin' this."

"_Chère_…"

She stood up suddenly before he could say anything else. "I should go get the Professor an' let him know that yer awake, he's been worried…" She brushed the tears away from her eyes as she headed towards the door. She stopped when she reached it, her hand resting on the handle. "Remy, I--" She turned slightly towards him, but kept her eyes on the floor. "I'm sorry. I'm just so sorry. For everything."

She left him then, shutting the door quietly behind her. He listened to the sound of her footsteps retreating down the hall, the clock on his bedside table ticking away the seconds as he lay there, completely, and utterly alone.

* * *

I'm now allowing anonymous reviewers along with my already _**beloved**_ registered-users. I had no idea I was locking people out before. Huh. Well, you learn something new everyday. Hopefully this won't invited people to write stupid things like "You suck, ha ha!" without fear of retribution. But now no one has an excuse not to review, right? Cool!

I think I'll leave a plate of virtual cookies out for you all. That seemed to be pretty popular last time. Enjoy! (Please note: taking a virtual cookie obligates that you leave a review. It's only fair)


	15. Sessions

_-- 10/3/09: I've re-edited out all those annoying little grammatical errors. I guess that's what happens when you proofread at midnight with only 3 hours of sleep over the past 72 hours under your belt. I apologize to those who had to read the scruffy version.--_

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story, but neither does Marvel now, technically, so… it's fair game, right? Seriously, who wants to take bets on how long before we get Mutant High Musical, or Rogue puts out a CD as her alter-ego Anna-Marie…**

So, how many of you out there still love me despite the incredibly long wait for an update?

Seriously, people, raise of hands.

Anyone? *A lone tumbleweed rolls across the computer screen*

Okay, so… yeah, it's been a long time. I could bore you with the details of my life, but let's just say-- I've been busy. But I do plan on more frequent updates from now on. Honestly. I'm starting on the next chapter tomorrow, cross my heart.

However, if you love frequent updates and awesome material, there's the lovely **Chellerbelle** out there, who's stories are honestly the highlight of my days (because, seriously, she posts something like _every _day. It so rocks).

And, to save time that could be used for working on Chapter 16, I'm calling my mulligan and skipping the review replies this chapter only. (And yes, I realize I skipped review replies once before, but no one called me on it, so my mulligan is still in play. Bwah!). And for those of you who don't know what a mulligan is, you must be lucky enough not to be married to someone obsessed with golf, which is quite possibly the most boring pastime ever invented by man.

Okay, a few necessary notes on this chapter:

* The question/question scene, and thus sort of the entire chapter, was inspired by a similar-yet-completely-different scene in **SLH**'s 'Interactions', which holds a special place in my heart as the very first fanfic I ever read, almost a year ago. Seriously, there's a bit in there on the word 'rhetorical' which is like literary gold.

* This chapter should be considered **T+, **or like, T-Major. Adult situations are insinuated (not described), and only as events from the past. But I promise, if you are innocent, you won't know what I'm talking about, and thus will remain uncorrupted. Those of us who have already been soiled by the evils of the world will know what I'm talking about. Also, I'm using a big potty-mouth word that I swore off using, but just once. I tried not to, but any substitute words just didn't feel right, and you can use it twice in a PG-13 movie, so I figure, just this once, we're okay. Right?

*** THIS IS THE MOST IMPORTANT NOTE OF ALL, SO PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE CONTINUING ON TO THE STORY!! **Today, we're going to do something a little different. There is an interactive element in this chapter. There is a song on youtube that is intended to be played in the background during a certain portion of this chapter. If possible, pull up a new window or tab and open to:

http://www[dot]youtube[dot]com/watch?v=oFSRs7iqAv8 (replace the [dots] with actual periods).

Pause the video until you are alerted to start it. When you see this: [&], press play. There is a slight delay in the video before the music starts- Don't Worry. This has been written in. When you see this: [&&] STOP READING until the music finishes. I recommend closing your eyes, as if you are in the scene. Music lovers will do well to pay attention to the emotions of the piece.

Reviewer Quote(s) of the Week will be at the end of the chapter, and you will see why when you get there.

Alright, let's just get to the story already, shall we?

* * *

_Chapter Fifteen: Sessions_

Friday June 26th, 11:23am

Xavier had always prided himself on the objectivity he maintained with regards to his students. As both a psychologist and perhaps the world's most powerful telepath, this was quite a feat. There was a natural tendency to meddle, and given his position as head of a house full of adolescent mutants, all dealing with the dramatic changes in both their hormones and their genetic makeup that come with the territory of being X-gene dominant teenagers, it was difficult not to succumb to the desire to steer their lives in the direction that he could so clearly see as advantageous, both for themselves and the greater good of humanity. But on this matter he had, in general, abstained. The children under his care were his students, his charges, not his own personal psychology project. They were not lab rats in a maze set about for his amusement and curiosity.

He made a vow when he opened up the Institute that therapy for his students would _not_ be mandatory. His doors would always be open, should any child desire his help, but it would not be forced upon anyone. Granted, there had been many students to pass through the halls of Mutant Manor who had been greatly in need of psychological counseling. Not all of those who were in need had always taken him up on the offer. Scott was not one of those students. In fact, the young man was enthusiastic about his sessions with the Professor, so much so that Xavier was forced to cut back their time together. Scott, in his very nature, had such a strong desire to please figures of authority that he began to form a dependant relationship with the older mutant. It would prove to be too tempting, in the long run, not to mold him perfectly into the lifelong X-man leader that he so dearly wanted to.

There were other students, of course, that were clearly in need of help, but remained voluntarily unreachable. Remy LeBeau was one of these students. It exercised the limits of the Professor's restraint and self-control to have the troubled young man living in their midst and not demand that he receive the psychiatric treatment he so sorely needed.

However, despite his vow of self-restraint, Charles Xavier could see that there was a point at which one must intervene. They had, he believed, reached that point. The young Cajun's mental status had been going downhill for a week, and it was beginning to effect his health.

The day after Rogue's graduation, the Professor had received a letter releasing young Mr. LeBeau's GED test results, as the Institute had been listed as the place of his preparatory program. A failing mark on such an important test would come as a blow to any individual, but to someone as fragile as Remy, coupled with the unbelievably bad timing, this sort of setback could be devastating. He hadn't said anything regarding his test results, but Xavier had a feeling that the news of his failed test could account for his somewhat strange behavior on Graduation Day.

And then, of course, there was the incident with Rogue. The girl was clearly upset about the accidental absorption, as was understandable. However, her reaction to the event was, for the most part, characteristic, if not somewhat exaggerated. She was aloof and hostile. This seemed to be a typical reaction from her. Remy, however, seemed to be fairing far worse.

There was something missing from the situation that the Professor had not yet been made aware of, that was clear. The young man's recent changes in behavior were far too dramatic to simply be a reaction to an encounter with his girlfriend's mutation. Since he had awoken he had remained, for the most part, in his room, locked away from the rest of the mansion's inhabitants. If he wasn't holed away inside his dormitory, he was in the Danger Room, alone. He was missing group meals and no one had seen him eat in days. And he was drinking, in large quantities. None of the faculty had witnessed him bringing liquor into the mansion, but it was clear that he had, at some point, seeing as he had not been off the manor's grounds and yet was still visibly drunk at times and his room (according to Logan) reeked of alcohol.

Rogue, through some finagling, had admitted that the two weren't fighting, but they weren't exactly speaking, either. "Guess we just don't feel like talkin' right now…" The muttered reply was all that Xavier had been able to wrangle out of her on the matter in their weekly session.

But even if the pair were not actively fighting, something, clearly, was wrong. Remy had dark circles under his eyes, obviously from a lack of sleep. He already looked like he was loosing weight.

Remy needed help.

Normally, Xavier was not one to condone manipulation, but he felt they had reached a point where the end justified the means. That, and quite frankly, the opportunity to do so seemed to drop so perfectly into his lap.

"Come in," he called out as he was made aware of Gambit's presence outside his office door. The door opened and Remy shuffled in, his combat uniform looking worse for wear. He avoided eye contact as he slumped down into a chair opposite of Xavier's desk.

The Professor remained silent for a few moments, waiting for the young man in front of him to initiate the conversation. However, when the silence remained, Xavier spoke up.

"Well," he began, "I believe we have a problem here, now don't we?"

Remy grimaced, but kept his steady gaze on the floor. "It was an accident," he mumbled.

"I don't doubt that. However, accident of not, I think it's clear that the incident this morning is a direct result of your recent moodiness." The Professor examined the young man in front of him, searching for any reaction. He came up empty handed. "Obviously, you were distracted, you have been distracted for some time now, and I feel the time has come for you to talk to me about what has been bothering you."

Once again, the Professor was met with stony silence. He sighed in aggravation. Getting through to Gambit was going to be like pulling teeth.

"Fine, you win," Xavier announced. "I didn't want to do this, but you have forced my hand. Until you open up and admit to me what is bothering you, and let me _help you _through the problem, your Danger Room privileges are revoked. Both for team practices and individual training."

Remy's eyes shot up from the floor. "What?!"

Xavier sighed internally. '_Finally, a response!_' "Hank was already concerned that it was too early for you to be working out so hard with your injured shoulder, and today you proved that you are not of sound enough body **or mind** for combat training. Clearly, right now you are a danger to yourself, _and others_."

Remy's face fell. "Is he… is he goin' t' be okay?"

The Professor softened. "He should be. Hank is keeping him in the med bay for the rest of the day for observation, and his wrist will need to be splinted, but he should come out of this relatively unscathed." He paused for a moment. "We were lucky. This time."

Remy swallowed audibly. "I… He…" He sighed. "I guess I wasn't payin' attention. Didn't realize he was s' close. Dat, and I t'ought it was one o' his clones."

"Well, I should think a general rule of thumb would be to avoid throwing explosives anywhere near Jamie **as well **as any of his multiples."

"An' normally I do dat, but--"

"--but this time," Xavier cut him off, "you were distracted. And now you're going to tell me what's wrong."

Remy narrowed his eyes, his demeanor hardening. "Not'ings wrong. I'm fine."

The Professor sat back in his chair. "You know, as a psychologist, one of the first things they teach you is that when a patient says 'I'm fine', it actually means the exact opposite."

Remy rolled his eyes. "_D'accord… 'Je suis bien'_, dat better?" He stood up suddenly. "If we done here, I'd like t' go get changed…" Xavier responded before he could start for the door.

"We can be done for the day, but I'd like you to meet with me tomorrow at 11. As well as the next day, and the day after that, and everyday until this matter is resolved."

Remy turned back to face him, and Xavier had to admit, his expression was fairly menacing. It was easy to see why Magneto had once recruited him.

"Dat sounds like **therapy**."

"Yes, it does."

Remy took a long, slow breath. "When I came here, you said dat talkin' t' you was _voluntary_."

The Professor nodded. "It was."

"Well den," Remy smirked, "'m gonna have t' politely decline y' offer." At that, he turned and headed towards the door.

"I said it '**was**'," Xavier called out, catching the young man as he reached for the door handle. "That was before your determination to internalize your issues made you a danger to the students here." He let that statement sink in for a moment before he went in for the kill. "Jamie could have died, Remy. You could have killed him."

He felt a bit guilty for manipulating the young Cajun like that. It was obvious that Gambit had a strong protective streak when it came to the younger mutants in the manor, and truth be told, Jamie's injuries were mild at best. A sprained wrist and a few cuts no larger than a band-aid could handle. But if his guilt over the incident (if it could even be called that) that had occurred that morning could be the means to help him open up, Xavier felt it was not only justifiable, but necessary.

Remy paused for a moment, his eyes still trained on the door handle in front of him. Finally, he sighed. "Y' said eleven?"

Xavier smiled. "Can I assume this means that you agree to meet with me?"

Remy;s jaw clenched. "Fine. Whatever."

Xavier relaxed in his chair. "Good. I look forward to it."

At that, Remy left the office, slamming the door behind him with a resonate 'BANG'.

***

Saturday, June 27th, 11:01am

Xavier waited patiently behind his desk as the clock on his desk officially marked his charge as late. He had very little doubt that Remy's tardiness was more an act of treason than a mere lack of punctuality. It was not altogether surprising.

The Professor steepled his fingers together in front of his face as he closed his eyes, clearing his mind. He had an inkling that this new project he had set about for himself was going to be trying, to say the least. A part of him was apprehensive, maybe even nervous about taking on the mind and psyche of one such as Remy LeBeau. It would not be easy. He had been fairly lucky since opening this school. The students he had acquired, while troubled at times, were for the most part, well, tame. Open. Respectful. He knew he could not expect this from Gambit. Yes, a part of him was nervous, but another part, the part that still remembered being 20-years-old and in college and finally learning the tools and techniques that he could use to make the most of his mutation and really _help_ people… that part, well, that part was excited.

The soft click of a door shutting brought him back to his senses and he opened his eyes, glancing first at the clock as Remy entered the office in his peripheral vision. 11:10. It was incredibly predictable.

"Well," the Professor began as the young man took a seat in the chair in front of him, "I'm glad you decided to show up." He glanced at the clock again pointedly. "Albeit, a little… _later_ than we had arranged."

When he looked up, Xavier was surprised to find Remy staring him down, straight in the eyes. Wordlessly, the young man took out a pack of cards from the back pocket of his jeans and began shuffling them, his eye line never wavering. His entire demeanor screamed one thing: challenge.

The Professor smiled lightly, not to be intimidated. He leaned forward in his chair. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we? We're hear to talk about you, so why don't you begin."

A deep silence settled upon the room as Remy continued to stare him down. His expression was of stony determination as he locked his eyes upon the Professor, his mouth set as he continued to sightlessly shuffle his cards. It was clear that he would not be talking.

Xavier relaxed in his chair, settling in for the long haul. The silent treatment was practically _Psychology 101_. While he was a little surprised that Remy was being so openly hostile, it wasn't exactly shocking, or even, for that matter, all that original. '_Well_,' the Professor sighed, '_I knew he wasn't going to make this easy._'

Forty-eight minutes later, as he glanced at the clock, Xavier found he had to give the young man in front of him some credit. While his act of resistance lacked a certain creativity, it was definitely annoying. And as much as he hated to admit it, the Professor found himself begrudgingly impressed with Remy's stamina. Not once in the entire silent session had he broken his defiant gaze. Clearly, the young Cajun was no amateur.

"Congratulation," the Professor announced, somewhat disappointed at the frustration he was unable to hide from his tone, "you've succeeded in wasting an hour of our time."

A small smile cracked at the corner of Remy's lips, the first real reaction he'd made since sitting down. Xavier frowned.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

***

Sunday, June 28th, 11:59am

The Professor sighed audibly as he watched the clock change, marking another hour of silence and another fruitless session with Remy LeBeau. Probably the most annoying part of the entire ordeal was the look of absolute pride that now graced the young man's features, as if he had really accomplished something by avoiding treatment for two days. Xavier knew it was a power play, and that his charge was attempting to force him into action, compel him to make the first move. He had intended to hold his ground, but with two days wasted, the Professor found he had less patience than he thought. Something had to give.

"It seems your time for today is up," Xavier announced, breaking through the silence that had prevailed for a very aggravating hour. Remy stood up from his seat as he continued talking. "I will see you tomorrow, where hopefully you will be in a more cooperating mood."

The young man gave him a cocky two-fingered salute as he sauntered out the office door.

***

Monday, June 29th, 11:00am

Charles Xavier waited patiently as Remy entered the office, flopping down with sinewy grace into his usual chair.

The Professor decided to skip the formalities and started right up with the business at hand. "As much as I've enjoyed the hour of quiet contemplation we've participated in the past two days, I think you've proven your point. And although I'm sure Mahatma Gandhi would be very proud of your display of peaceful resistance, I think it would be a more productive use of both our time if we actually… talked."

Remy nodded. "S' talk."

"I received your GED results."

The Professor noticed Remy blanch slightly. "What?"

"When you signed up for the test," he explained, "you noted the Institute on your application. You would have had to check a box to release your test results."

"Oh." The young man's face fell. "Oh."

Xavier folded his hands in front of him. "How do you feel about failing?"

Remy scowled. "Terrific."

"Oh, sarcasm," the Professor mused. "How very unexpected coming from you. But see, I was actually hoping for an honest answer. How about we try that?"

"Unsurprised."

Xavier was caught, ironically, a little by surprise at that statement. "I beg your pardon?"

"Y' asked m' how I felt about failin'," Remy replied, slouching further in his chair and crossing his arms in front of him. "An' I said … 'unsurprised'."

Xavier pondered this for a moment before responding. There were so many ways he could go into that answer, but he didn't want to come on too strong and scare the young Cajun off. "Am I to infer from that response that you felt unprepared for the test?"

Remy scoffed. "Are y' serious? I t'ought we already had dis conversation before I took it."

"So, if you did indeed feel unprepared for the test," the Professor offered, "I'm left wondering why you were in such a rush to take it."

"Jus' got hooked on phonics, I guess."

Xavier sighed. "Does this have anything to do with the funk you've been in for the past week?"

"Nah," Remy drawled as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette. "Dat's jus' a schedulin' t'ing."

"Scheduling?"

"Yeah," he smirked as he placed the cigarette between his lips. "Turns out it's da _Chaton_'s turn t' be Miss Mary Sunshine dis week. I t'ink 'm up again in July."

The Professor frowned. This certainly wasn't going the way he had intended. "I hope you don't plan on lighting that thing."

Remy eyed him quizzically. "Don' know how y' expect me t' smoke it if I don'." At that, he touched the end of his cigarette with the tip of his extended middle finger, lighting it with a soft charge. The intended message in the gesture was not lost on the Professor.

He leaned forward in his chair. "You know very well that smoking is not allowed inside the premises."

"Well, I _t'ought_ I remembered y' tellin' _moi_ dat," Remy mused thoughtfully as he blew the smoke out of the corner of his mouth. "But den, I also t'ought I remembered y' saying dat therapy was not mandatory." He tapped the side of his head lightly. "Guess de ol' ticker ain't what she used t' be, _hein_?"

Xavier scowled. "Very well. I think we're finished here. Get out of my office."

The Professor was a bit pleased to find the young man in front of him in shock at the turn of events. He took the cigarette out of his mouth. "But our time ain't up yet," he protested.

"I don't care," Xavier countered. "As cute as your Holden Caulfield impression is, I've read the book already, and I have other things to do today."

Remy frowned. "Who's Holden Caulfield?"

The Professor wheeled himself out from behind his desk, making his way over to his bookshelf as he spoke. "Holden Caulfield is the narrator and protagonist of 'The Catcher in the Rye'. It's a very well-known book." He located his copy on the second shelf, pulling it out. He turned his chair and tossed the book into the young man's lap. "Why don't you go read it. It will give you something to do while you isolate yourself in your room."

Remy, still looking somewhat rattled by the situation, took the book as he stood up. "Uh… okay."

Xavier called out to him before he reached the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Remy turned. "But… y' said we were finished."

Xavier grinned. "For the day. Tomorrow, 11 o'clock."

Remy scowled as he turned to leave. At the threshold, he paused, dropping his cigarette on the floor and stubbing it out with his boot before slamming the door behind him.

***

Tuesday, June 30th, 11:00am

As he awaited Remy's arrival, Charles Xavier found himself somewhat… excited for their session. He had spent the previous evening going over his old notes from college, trying to come up with a more effective game plan for getting through to Remy. He was somewhat surprised to realize that he had become, over so many years, fairly disconnected with one-on-one patient work. For so long he had focused on his genetics degree, and the psychology issues that he had been working on involved more with how to deal with society as a whole. However, in delving back into his old work, he found his passion for psychology beginning to resurface. And, more than anything, he really wanted to help Remy. He wanted to help all of them, all of his students. Perhaps he had become distracted by the needs of the world, by his dream for humanity, but that didn't change the fact that at his very core, he did care.

He _did_.

The Professor was broken from his reverie by the sound of the door opening. As expected, his young charge entered the office and sauntered at his usual pace towards his appointed chair. The second that Remy came within a five-foot radius of his desk, the smell of alcohol assaulted Xavier's olfactory senses. Instantly, whatever good mood he had been in was squashed into oblivion.

The little asshole had been drinking. Xavier couldn't believe it. He actually had the audacity to show up to his session under the influence.

As Remy slumped down into his seat, the Professor examined his demeanor. He was far too coordinated and focally connected to be drunk… maybe a light buzz at most. It was at this point that Xavier realized that the alcohol, more than anything, was for show. A big 'screw you', served up especially for him by the Ragin' Cajun himself.

Charles Xavier, for lack of a better term, was pissed.

"Did you read the book?"

Remy looked up at him in confusion. "What y' mean?"

"The book," the Professor clipped back, crossing his arms in front of him. "'The Catcher in the Rye'. Did you read it?"

Remy furrowed his brow. "I… uh, I didn't--"

"You didn't read it?" He cut him off tersely. "I can't imagine why not. It's not as if you had anything else to do with your time, you locked yourself away in your room, you missed dinner, you missed breakfast… I assumed you were trying to finish it before we met again."

"I…" Remy floundered, uncharacteristically. "I mean… y' expected me t' read da whole t'ing in one day?"

"It's a short book," Xavier spat back, a little surprised at his own animosity. "What, were the words too big? Do you really expect me to believe you are as stupid as you'd like everyone to think that you are? As you've convinced _yourself_ that you are? There's no reason you shouldn't have finished. That is, if you weren't too busy closing yourself off from the world, wallowing in self-pity instead of accepting the help that is offered and dealing with your issues head on, like an adult."

Remy opened his mouth to say something, but stopped mid-action, his mouth left opened as he dropped his gaze, searching desperately for something to focus on around his shoes.

The Professor was suddenly hit with how very lost the young man looked, how completely… _small _he looked. He hadn't come into the office expecting to be attacked. He had come in on the offensive. He had intended to have the upper hand. To be in control. He **needed** to be in control. Xavier knew all this. He knew it. But he let his emotions get involved. He allowed himself to be personally offended by the young man's defensive actions. It wasn't personal. It wasn't. It had absolutely nothing to do with him. Charles knew he was being selfish.

This had nothing to do with him.

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep, cleansing breath as an awkward silence settled upon the room.

Xavier opened his eyes. "I'm sorry." He let the statement linger for a moment before he went on. "That was uncalled for, and I apologize." He sighed. "I don't want to fight with you. Since you came to the Institute, you and I have had a rather respectful relationship. I have no desire for it turn hostile now." He paused for a moment, waiting for a response from the young man in front of him.

Remy glanced up for a moment and swallowed. "Okay."

The Professor nodded. Now, time to get things back on the right track.

"I've been thinking about our situation," he began, "and I realized something. I've been unfair to you." He noticed Remy look up at this declaration, and continued. "Truth be told, we really don't know each other all that well. I have been asking you to open yourself up to me, but I have offered you nothing in return. If this were a business dealing, well, it would be absurd for me to make such a request. So… I'm offering you a deal."

He paused for a moment, making sure that he had Remy's full attention. He did. "I propose we play a little game, of sorts. I have several questions for you, and it only seems fair that you should be able to ask a few of your own. So, the rules shall be as follows: you may ask me any question you wish, and for every question you ask, I am allowed to ask you one of my own. In fairness, you should be expected to answer your question as honestly as you feel I have answered mine. Does this sound agreeable?"

He watched as Remy contemplated the offer for a moment before speaking up hesitantly. "So…" the young man began, "y' sayin', I can ask y' anyt'ing, **anyt'ing**… an' y' have t' answer m' question?"

The Professor smiled. "Yes. Well, as long as I feel comfortable. But then, of course, I can't very well expect you to answer my questions if I'm not willing to answer yours. It's a matter of trust and fairness. I am willing to be as transparent as you are. Of course, I believe we can both assume, as always, that everything said in this session by either one of us should be considered confidential."

"Wait, wait a second," Remy cut in, closing his eyes briefly as he held up a hand, "y' sayin' dat I can ask y' anyt'ing, like… I don' know, what y' favorite sexual position is, an' y' really gonna tell me?"

Xavier chuckled lightly. "Would you like that to be your first question?"

Remy closed his mouth and sat back in his chair. "Well… sure. What's y' favorite sexual position?"

Charles thought for a moment. "When I was younger and had the use of my legs, I always enjoyed being on top. But now… let's just say that I'm happy with whatever can be managed."

Remy let out a sound that was somewhere between a chuckle and a guffaw. A slow smile crept up on his face. "I can' believe y' really answered dat."

The Professor smiled, pleased that the young man in front of him was enjoying the exercise. It would clearly require some humility on his own part, but that he had expected. It would be worth it if he was finally able to get Remy to open up. "If I've answered your question to your satisfaction, I believe it is my turn."

Remy sobered up some. "Oh, right."

Xavier thought for a moment. "What is your favorite color?"

The question caught the young man by surprise. "What's my…" He paused, slightly bewildered. "I ask y' what y' favorite sexual position is an' y' counter-attack is 'what's y' favorite color'?"

The Professor shrugged noncommittally. "It's my question to use, I can ask whatever I desire."

"Alright…" Remy muttered. "Well, um… I don' know… black, I guess."

"Why?"

Remy opened his mouth to answer before stopping himself. "Don't I have t' ask y' another question before y' can ask a follow-up?"

"That's up to you," Xavier responded. "It all depends on how closely you want to follow the format. _You_ are in control here."

The young man seemed to ponder that for a second before responding. "I guess I don' know… I jus' like black. Never really t'ought about it before." He stopped, looking up at the Professor. "Is dat a good enough answer?"

He nodded. "If that is the truth, then it's the truth. This isn't a test, Remy. There are no right or wrong answers. I'm not trying to catch you in a trap here. I'm just trying to create a dialogue. Of course I'm hoping that we'll be able to reach a productive conversation, but if we end up talking about nothing, at least I've got you talking. That is all I want. And if you get nothing out of our time here, at least you'll come away with perhaps a few laughs and some blackmail material against me. If you think about it, it's a win-win situation."

"Yeah. Okay."

The Professor tipped his head. "Your question."

"Right." He bit his lip in contemplation. "Y' ever been sexually attracted t' one o' y' students?"

Xavier chuckled internally. Remy certainly wasn't going to go easy on him. "No," he responded, "I haven't."

Remy narrowed his eyes at him. "Y' sure?"

He smiled. "Yes, I'm sure. My question?" Remy nodded. "Are you happy living here at the Institute, with the X-men?"

Remy looked off to the side for a moment. "I guess."

"You guess?"

"I…" The young man began playing with his fingers, as if he wished he was holding something. "I don' wish I was somewhere else."

Xavier nodded. "Fair enough."

Remy looked down and swallowed before looking up. "My turn?" The Professor inclined his head. "Uh… oh. Okay, I got one. Y' ever had a homosexual experience?"

Xavier laughed outright at that one. "You know," he chuckled, "if I was a Freudian, I could probably read something into your continued line of questioning." Remy smiled and simply shrugged his shoulders, waiting for a response. The Professor cleared his throat. "Yes, yes I have."

Remy's jaw dropped. He leaned forward in his chair. "Really? When?"

Xavier sighed, leaning back in his chair. "It was when I was in college… which I know is incredibly cliché, but the reality is that the college years tend to be a time of sexual experimentation for many adolescents. Anyway, as I was saying, I was in college at the time, and I had this lab partner in my O-Chem course who was openly gay. He was a very attractive young man and he made no secret about his attraction to me. I was, of course, flattered, and a little curious. He kissed me one night at a party on campus. Alcohol was involved, of course, as it usually is in these sorts of situations. While it was somewhat exciting, I found that I was not sexually attracted to him, or any other man. That was the only incident. We remained amicable schoolmates after that, but I lost touch with him during my graduate studies."

Remy had remained quiet during the explanation, and now sat thoughtfully still in his chair. The Professor watched him closely as he offered his next question. "Are you happy?" He paused. "I mean, truly happy. And not this week, because clearly we both know the answer to that, but in general."

Remy's face fell. "No." He paused, taking a small breath. "Well… I mean, dere are t'ings dat make m' happy, but, in general… no." He sniffed, straightening up suddenly and pulling a smirk onto his face. "But den, when's dat ever slowed m' down, _hein_?"

Xavier watched the young man in front of him carefully. "Your turn," he uttered softly.

Remy let the smirk fall from his face. "Y' really believe in dis… dis dream o' yours? I mean… do y' really t'ink y' can--can change da world? Make everyone love us, an', what, suddenly we all sittin' around in a giant circle, freaks and normals, holdin' hands and singin' kumbaya or somet'in' like we one big happy family? You really believe dat's gonna happen?"

The Professor took a deep breath. "Yes." He paused. "I don't know that it will happen in my lifetime. But I can try. I _have_ to try. You have to understand, Remy, the responsibility I hold. We are all put on this earth for a reason. I am…" He took a moment, making sure to get his wording correct. "I am one of the most powerful mutants on earth today. Over my lifetime, I have had to come to accept the realization that, if I chose to do so, I could wipe the entire human population off the planet with only my _mind_." He breathed. "I could destroy humanity. Or I could save it. I choose to save it."

He let that statement settle before posing his next question. "How long have you and Rogue been together?"

Remy was visibly thrown off-course by the switch in topic. "Huh?"

"Rogue never revealed to me how long the two of you had been in contact with one another before you came here," the Professor explained, "and even still, your relationship seemed somewhat undefined when you took up residence at the Institute. I'm just wondering how long the two of you have been a couple, officially."

"Oh." Remy furrowed his brows. "I, uh… I don' know." Suddenly, a look of panic spread across his features. "_Merde_, is dat somet'in' I'm supposed t' know? Did I miss an anniversary or somet'in'? Did Rogue say somet'in' t' you, dat's why y' askin'? _Merde_!"

"Remy," Xavier called out to him, trying to calm the young man down as he ran a hand through his hair nervously. "Rogue said nothing. I asked of my own volition. I was curious, that is all." He waited as Remy took a cleansing breath, relaxing back into his chair. "It is perfectly fine not to know the answer to that question. Not all couples have a formal coming together. Some relationships develop naturally. I would advise, however," he pointed out, "that the two of you get together and decide upon a date, an event or a turning point. As humans, we have an innate desire to timeline our lives. And the fact is that relationships take work, and I think it is important to acknowledge the accomplishment of making it through to certain milestones." He sat back in his chair. "Your question."

The young man glanced up at him. "Y' keep close tabs on all da relationships dat go on 'round here?"

Xavier sighed. "I try not to." He rested his chin in his hand. "For one thing, it's not my place. But truthfully, teenage relationship are _tiring_." Remy chuckled lightly at that. "It was bad enough when I had to go through it myself, I have very little desire to relive the experience through my students." He paused before asking his next question. "Do you love Rogue?"

He watched the young man in front of him carefully as he awaited his response.

"Yeah."

The Professor cocked his head to the side. "_'Yeah'_?"

"Yes," Remy amended. He paused thoughtfully, looking down at his shoes. "I'm t'inkin' 'bout marryin' her."

"You're thinking about marrying her?" Xavier repeated back, a bit surprised.

The young man shrugged, his eye line still fixed somewhere around the vicinity of his shoelaces. "I jus' mean… I don' want t' lose her." The Professor watched as Remy fidgeted in his chair for a moment before finally pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, fingering it in his lap before he posed his question. "Do y' t'ink she loves me?"

Xavier noted how the young man's focus stayed fixed upon the white stick in his hand. "Yes." He paused. "Do _you _think she loves you?"

The cigarette stilled for a moment before he continued to fidget with it. "Maybe."

The Professor eyed him quizzically. "Has she told you that she loves you?"

Remy swallowed, still gazing intently at his hands. "Yeah."

Xavier leaned forward. "Does she show you how she feels with her actions, with the way she treats you?"

He bit his bottom lip. "Yeah."

"And yet," Charles pondered, "you still question whether or not she loves you?"

"I guess."

"You guess?"

Remy swallowed again, his gaze upon the cigarette in his lap becoming intense. "Maybe…" His voice was soft now, and Xavier noticed how his hands began to tremble. "Maybe she just… _t'inks_ dat she loves me."

"Remy," the Professor started carefully, "is it possible that, despite all that Rogue says and does, you feel that you are… _unworthy_ of her love?"

He watched as the young man in front of him continued to stare at his lap, his breath quickening through his nose as his eyes began to water.

"Is it possible that you feel unworthy of _anyone's_ love?"

His bottom lip began to quiver.

The Professor leaned forward again, clasping his hands together on the desk in front of him. "Remy, I need you to hear this." He kept his voice firm and level. "This is important for you to understand." He looked upon him intently, though the young man would not meet his eyes. "You are not incapable of being loved. You are a person of merit. Nothing that has happened or will happen in your life can change that. You are deserving of love, and the fact that--"

"I cheated on her." Xavier was instantly silenced at Remy's sudden declaration. "I cheated on Rogue."

The Professor tried to recover from his shock, closing his mouth when he realized that it had fallen open. He took a deep breath, making sure to keep his tone calm. "How did this happen?"

Remy looked up at him then, his eyes pooled with unshed tears. "Da day she graduated, after da ceremony, after dinner, when I went off on m' own. I went t' a club t' get drunk an' I met someone an'… an' I cheated on her."

Xavier steepled his fingers in front of him. "Is that the thing that has been behind all of this, your behavior this past week?" Remy nodded. He sighed, unable to hide his disappointment. "Oh Remy…"

The young man leaned to the side, covering his eyes with his hand. "I don' know why I did it…"

Charles sighed again. "You received your test results that day, didn't you?"

Remy uncovered his eyes. "How'd y'--"

"I received the notice that day as well," Xavier explained, closing his eyes as he rubbed at his temples, "but I was busy. I didn't open my mail until the next day. When I received the news, I concluded that you must have gotten your notice the day before, and assumed that was the reason you had been in an off mood the previous evening."

Remy nodded lightly, looking off to the side. "She got int' college, y' know. Rogue. A whole bunch o' dem."

The Professor nodded. "I know."

Remy bit his lip. "She didn't tell me."

Xavier sighed. "I know." He had actually been discussing it with Rogue for some time in their sessions. He knew that the situation would have major repercussions, he just hadn't imagined it would end this badly. He almost regretted not forcing her into action on the subject, but in the end, it was her life and she made her own decisions. He turned his attention back to the young man in front of him. "Does Rogue know about this?"

Remy shook his head. "I haven't told her yet."

The Professor crossed his arms in front of him. "You need to tell her."

Remy nodded. "I know," he whispered. Wordlessly, he leaned forward, laying his head down on the desk and burying his face in his arms.

Xavier let a silence settle upon the office as he took a minute to gather his thoughts. This was a very bad situation. Both of his students were in line to get very hurt here. But the reality was, as much as he may wish to play a heavy hand in the situation, he was merely a third party. It wasn't his job to meddle. He could only offer his help and advice, when solicited, to both students.

"Remy, I can't promise you that this is all going to turn out alright," he spoke. The young man in front of him remained motionless, his face still covered in his arms. "The fact is, despite mitigating factors, you made a very bad mistake. You slept with someone, and--"

"I didn't sleep wit' her," Remy muttered, his voice muffled against the desk.

The Professor paused, somewhat bewildered. "I beg your pardon?"

"I was gonna," Remy answered, still not raising his head, "but den… I don' know, I sorta came t' my senses and stopped before we… you know."

"Oh," Xavier replied. He contemplated this development for a moment. "Well, that could be a point in your favor, I suppose."

"Oh yeah," Remy scoffed, and the Professor had to lean in to hear him properly with his voice still muffled through his arms. "I'm sure dat makes a big difference t' Rogue. Sex is unacceptable, but foreplay wit' a complete stranger in da bat'room of a club, well, dat's a completely different story…"

The Professor had to admit, he was impressed with the young man's rather mature line of thinking. "Yes, well, still… I applaud you for taking full responsibility for the intent of your actions, even though they were not fully carried out." He sighed. "But regardless of what happens with you and Rogue, I think we need to work on how you react to events in your life. I understand where you are coming from, but it's not a healthy place. We need to work through the issues of your past so you can move forward from a more stable and secure mind frame. Not every relationship, in any form, will be like the ones you've experienced in the past. Not everyone will use you like your father did, lie to you as he did. And the arranged marriage you had is hardly common. It _is_ possible for someone to want to be with you for no reason other than their own. But until you work through these issues, as well as the others, the damage that your past--"

"How'd y' know 'bout all dat?" Remy's head suddenly shot up from the desk, startling the Professor into momentary silence. The young man's demeanor changed, his eyes slowly narrowing on the man in front of him. "Dat stuff about m' father, an' Belladonna… I tol' some people 'bout an ol' girlfriend, but de engagement, an dat it was arranged… only Rogue knows about dat." He paused dangerously. "Did she tell you about all dat?"

Xavier took a deep breath. The air had changed. This was all about to come down upon him, everything they had just built up, and he knew it. "Rogue did not break your confidence," he answered softly.

"Den how--" Remy cut himself off, the wheels in his head visibly turning. The Professor cringed, wishing he could stop this, but knowing that he could not. "Y' called _mon père_, when I was stabbed…" Remy continued. "Y' knew how to get a hold of da Guild."

"Yes."

Remy blanched slightly, his features turning cold. He stared the Professor down. "How do y' know all dis?"

Xavier sighed. He always knew this day would come, he just hadn't imagined it would come at possibly the worst conceivable moment. Everything they had just accomplished would be ruined. Any trust he had earned from the cautious young man before him would be shattered. He sighed as he reached into a side drawer in his desk, pulling out a file. He placed it on the desk in front of him, where it was snatched up immediately.

"Before you came here," the Professor explained slowly as Remy opened the file, his eyes widening in horror, "I had my sources gather information on you. I _had_ to, Remy, do you understand that? I had to know what I was getting into, who I was bringing into this house. I had the safety of the other students to consider."

Remy's eyes were scanning through the pages at a furious rate. "Dis wasn't here…" he stammered. "I searched y' files, when I got here, hacked y' system… all y' had was m' name an' powers."

Xavier nodded. "That was your old file, from when you were an Acolyte. Logan was being briefed on your new file at the time when you broke into my office, and I kept the information off the computer. The file in your hand is the only copy in existence. I knew you wouldn't want your personal information in our system."

"I wouldn't _want_…?" Remy was aghast, the anger and betrayal clear upon his face. He continued to examine the papers in his hand. "Dis… dis is my life. My **life**!" Finally, he tore his gaze away from the file, looking up at the Professor menacingly. "You had **no **right." His hands began to shake in anger. "**NO** right!" The file in his hands began to glow as the edges started to singe away.

"Remy," Xavier tried, putting his hands up to calm the young man in front of him. "You have to understand--"

"**Understand**?!" Remy fumed. "You drag m' in here, trick m' into talkin' t' you, spout off all dis shit about how I can trust you, an' all da while y' **lyin'** t' me, jus' like _everyone else_!" As the young man's anger built, the file in his hands continued to glow, the edges crumbling away as a small amount of smoke rose from the charged material. Suddenly, the file burst, the shock causing the Professor to jolt in his chair. As the debris in the air cleared, he could see the small damage the explosion had done on Remy's glove, and possibly the hand beneath it. The young Cajun, however, was unfazed, his entire body stiff as he continued to rage.

"We're **done **here," he seethed, the red in his eyes pulsating. "I'm done talkin' t' you, I'm gonna use da Danger Room whenever I damn well please, and you're gonna leave me da _**hell**_** ALONE**!"

Xavier closed his eyes. "Fine." It was a lost cause anyway, at this point. There was no way he could build back that trust.

His eyes snapped back open at the crash of the door slamming, the floor beneath him shaking slightly at the sound. He sighed. Things had gone very wrong. Very, very wrong. He hung his head, contemplating how in the world he could possibly move forward from this damning set-back, what he could possibly do to try to mend the situation.

The only thing he could come up with was simply… nothing.

***

Friday, July 3rd, 9:24am

Charles Xavier closed his eyes, rubbing the sides of his temples. How had things gotten so bad? That poor boy… So many emotional blows in such a short time, and now this.

"I don't know how it happened, Chuck," Logan explained as he leaned against the side of the desk. "We were trying out that new civilian aide Sim that Kitty programmed, the prison riot one. Storm was in the control room, and I was down on the floor, makin' sure none of the New Recruits took a shiv in the gut or something. You know how Kitty is, she loves to get all realistic with the details…" The feral man ran a weary hand over his face and the Professor sighed, hoping he would get to the point as soon as possible. "And, I don't know… one minute I'm pulling a half-frozen inmate off Bobby, and I look over, and Gumbo's got some guy in the corner, one of the inmates, and he's beatin' the shit out of him." Logan shook his head. "I mean it, Chuck, the kid was really layin' into the guy. You've seen him when he gets like that, in total blood-rage fighter mode. That's some great power to have on the team, but it's scary when it gets out of control. So I call out to him, and of course everyone stops and turns to see what's goin' on. Luckily Jean caught on to what was happening quick enough and shielded some of the younger kids, but… well, you oughta prepare to deal with them, cuz there was a lot of blood…"

Xavier nodded ruefully before waving a hand to Logan, encouraging him to continue.

"So, I ran to him, tried to pull him off the guy, but the kid just kept going. It was like he couldn't hear me, couldn't feel me, like he was on autopilot. There was no stopping him, Chuck, I tried. He just kept tearing into the dude. Didn't stop till Storm got the program turned off and the guy disappeared. Then it was as if, I don't know, the kid sort of just snapped out of it. Like he suddenly realized where he was. Got up and just sort of stood there for a second, looking around dazed before he bolted."

The Professor sighed. "And where is he now?"

Logan crossed his arms. "Locked himself up in his room. Rogue's up there, trying to get him to come out, or talk to her, anything. She's pretty upset. As far as I knew those two still weren't talkin', but I guess whatever's up between 'em ain't bad enough for her not to care about what happens to him."

Xavier took a deep breath. "I'll go talk to him." As he wheeled himself towards the door, he stopped midway, turning back to face his colleague. "Logan," he began, "the inmate… if it had been real--"

"Oh, he'd be dead." Logan answered.

The Professor pressed his fingers to his lips. "Did something happen? Could he have done something to Remy in the simulation?"

Logan shook his head. "I don't think so. Practically the whole team was down there. If something happened, someone would have seen it. At least they should have. But, I don't know, Chuck, the look in Gumbo's eyes… I'd say he knew the guy."

Xavier nodded. "Kitty programmed it with real inmates, is that correct?"

"Yeah," Logan replied. "She got the files from some Fox River prison in Joliet, Illinois."

"Search the program," the Professor stated. "Find out who he was. Get all the information you can. I'm going to see Remy."

He heard Logan exit the office behind him as he wheeled himself towards the elevators on his way towards the dormitories. After several irritating delays in the form of worried students ("Yes, Jamie, everything is going to be fine. No, I don't know what happened. Yes, Jamie, Mr. Remy is going to be alright."), he wheeled down the hall to find Rogue slumped against Remy's door. She looked up upon his arrival, scrambling to her feet before racing to his side and following him back down the hall as her hands flapped nervously. "Professor, ya have ta do somethin'! Scan the room an' make sure he's okay, that he's alive or conscious, that he's even in there, **anything**!"

"Rogue," the Professor soothed as they made their way down the hall, "calm down."

"I _can't_ calm down!" she exclaimed. She ran a hand through her hair. "Ya don't understand. I've never seen him like that, and now he's locked himself in his room, and he's not answerin' me… maybe he's fine, I don't know, or maybe he climbed down the balcony and took off, or maybe he took somethin'…" Her voice cracked. "I just don't know. It's been, like… forty minutes, and he's not _answerin_' me. Remy?!" She called out to him when they reached his door. She began banging on it frantically. "Remy, if you can hear me, **say **something!! Remy?!" She turned back to the Professor, her eyes wild and determined. "**Find** him."

Xavier acquiesced, bringing his fingers to the side of his head as he scanned the room for the young man's psychic presence. "I'm not finding anything," he sighed, opening his eyes, "which means nothing. His psychic shields are incredibly strong when he wants them to be. He could very well be there, or not, I just don't know."

"Damn it," Rogue swore. She began pounding on the door again. "Remy, **please**, ya gotta say somethin'! I need ta know yer okay! Just--"

Suddenly, the door swung open. Remy stood there, having changed out of his uniform, but his eyes were still red-rimmed, obviously from crying. He was achingly calm as Rogue threw her arms around him, clutching him tightly. After a quick moment, however, she pulled away, slapping him harshly across the face.

"How dare you!" she spat out, her voice quivering. "Don't you **ever** do that again, Remy, you here me?! If I'm callin' out ta you, you better tell me ta go away or leave ya the hell alone, but you say **somethin'**, so I'm not just standin' out here thinkin'… thinkin'…" She broke down then, throwing her arms around him again and burying her face in his chest. "I'm just so relieved that yer okay…" she sobbed.

"I know…" he whispered. Xavier watched from the sidelines as the young man lowered his head slowly, kissing the top of her hair. "'m sorry, I just… needed some time."

Rogue pulled back slightly, her arms still around him, as she lifted her head to face him. "Remy, what happened… in the Danger Room? What's going on?"

He sighed, closing his eyes. "Yeah, I… I t'ink 'm ready to tell y' 'bout dat. And… somet'in' else." His eyes opened and shifted, acknowledging the Professor's presence for the first time with a pointed glance. He tugged on Rogue's arm gently. "Come on, let's talk in here."

She nodded lightly, sidestepping him into the room with a silent grace. Remy gave the Professor one last glance as he shut the door behind him, leaving the older mutant alone in the hall. He desperately wanted to be in that room, helping with the situation, but it wasn't his place, and he certainly wasn't invited. Resisting the urge to use his powers to spy, he wheeled himself back towards the elevators, determined to find Logan and figure out just what had happened that morning.

***

Almost an hour later, Charles Xavier found himself wandering through the mansion, trying to find something to take his mind of the two students holed up in a room on the second floor. The information Logan gathered from the Simulation program offered very few insight on the situation. The inmate involved was one Chester Sloan, a convicted child molester from Chicago. Before the start of his incarceration eleven years previous he had been an insurance salesman, and the two men hypothesized that perhaps Remy had been one of his victims, coming into contact with him through business dealings with Jean-Luc. The theory, however, fell through when they realized that Sloan was arrested a year before Remy was adopted. In all, it just didn't add up. Not yet.

Glancing at his watch, the Professor decided that it would be appropriate to at least check up on the young mutants, and made his way towards Remy's room.

[&]

Exiting the elevator on the second floor, he wheeled himself down the hallway. As he turned the corner, he could see from a distance that Remy's door was now open. He took this as a sign that whatever conversation had taken place there was obviously over.

Cautiously, he approached the room. Before he reached the door, however, he noted the soft muted sounds of a piano begin to filter down from the music room on the upper level. It was curious, seeing as no one had played the instrument, or even set foot in that room, for months. Shaking his head, he placed the thought in the back of his mind to contemplate at another time. There were more important matters at hand.

Peering into the room, he found Rogue, sitting alone on the floor, her back resting against the side of the bed. She was crying softly.

She glanced up upon his arrival in the doorway, sniffing as she wiped the tears from her eyes. "Oh, Professor."

"Rogue," he began quietly. "Are you alright?"

She nodded stiffly. "Yeah, I'm fine." She paused. "Or, I will be fine." Her voice was still shaky, and heartbreakingly small. She glanced around the room. "Remy's not here… clearly. I mean, he's _here_, like in the mansion, or at least… he promised he wouldn't leave, or anythin'." She sniffled. "Just said he wanted ta be alone for a while."

Xavier steepled his fingers. "I see."

She glanced up at him. "Actually, Professor, I'd kinda like ta be alone for a while, too… if that's alright."

He nodded. "Of course." As he backed up, he paused. "Rogue," he began, "You know that I'm here for you, when you want to talk? I'm here for both of you."

She closed her eyes, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "I know," she replied. "Thank ya."

He left her in her solitude as he wheeled away, hoping as always that she would indeed come to him when the time was right.

As he moved along the hallway, he let his mind wander back to the music that continued to emanate from upstairs. It was beautiful, Beethoven if he recalled correctly. It was being played with remarkable skill, and he couldn't help but wonder who was responsible. As far as he knew, Storm was the only musician in the house, but it clearly wasn't her. Charles was somewhat of a music connoisseur himself, and he knew Ororo's performance style when he heard it. She had a certain lightness to her, always a little ahead of the beat with a gentle ease, as if her fingers merely floated over the keys like a feather in the winds she created. Whoever this was played with such a heaviness in tone, with such an aching and desperation, it felt as if the music was being poured from their soul like a thick syrup. It was moving, and compelling, so much so that the Professor was unable to suppress his curiosity, and thus found himself once again in the elevator, this time making his way up to the upper floor.

As the elevator doors opened, the once muted tones became clear and resonate as they filled the air in the near empty level. Hardly anyone used this floor, which was why Xavier had placed the music room here. It was the perfect sanctuary for practice, for one to completely immerse themselves with their music. He wheeled himself forward slowly, careful to keep his journey down the hall as inconspicuous as possible, so as not to interrupt the performance and break the spell that the music seemed to cast upon the scene.

As he turned the corner, the music room opened up in front of him. The Professor had to suppress a gasp at its occupant. There, sitting at the piano, was Remy LeBeau.

As shocking as it was to see him sitting on the stool there, playing as if he'd been doing it his entire life, it was almost… fitting. He was playing the piece by memory, his eyes closed as his hands moved expertly between the keys.

Xavier swallowed. It was heartbreaking. Truly, and utterly heartbreaking. And it occurred to him that it may have been the most honest the young man had ever been.

Remaining as still and silent as possible, the Professor followed Remy's example and closed his eyes, reading the emotions that the young man spoke as the music filled him. The notes seemed to expand and contract in his chest as the music dipped and swelled. He settled more deeply into his chair, allowing himself to be swept away.

[&&]

When the final note played and a silence slowly began to settle over the room, Xavier opened his eyes.

"I didn't know you played."

It wasn't altogether surprising that Remy seemed unfazed by the announcement of the Professor's presence. He probably knew he was there the entire time. The young man opened his eyes, hesitantly resting his hands upon the keys with an odd sort of reverence.

"I haven't f' years," he spoke softly. Xavier wheeled himself into the room, stopping by the side of the instrument. Remy glanced over at him. "I was jus' takin' a walk around da mansion, clearing' m' head, or… whatever. I came up here cuz it's quiet, but when I saw dis…" He lightly caressed one of the keys with his finger, "I don' know… I jus' felt like playin'." He paused. "Dis is a nice piano y' got here."

"Thank you," the Professor replied. "We acquired it last year, actually. The previous one met an unfortunate end via Logan's claws."

The corners of Remy's lips turned up for a moment at the comment before he turned somber once again. "Jean-Luc has dis… beautiful piano. Well, technically it belongs to da Guild, but he da King, so dat makes it his. 1875 Steinway Concert Grand. Incredible rosewood finish."

Though his eyes were on the instrument in front of him, Xavier could tell that, in his mind, Remy was somewhere far more south. "First time I saw it, it took m' breath away. I used t' camp out on da floor outside the sitting room, a good fifteen feet away from da t'ing, an just stare at it. I never touched it- _nobody_ ever touched it- but finally, after somet'in' like six months, I finally got up da nerve and just--" He brought his hands up, letting them hover a breath above the ivories,"--pressed one key. Just one. But it was da most amazing t'ing I'd ever heard."

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. The Professor kept himself passive, careful not to react too strongly and scare him off. "It was kept in impeccable condition. Perfect tone, even wit' de age. Anyway, after Jean-Luc caught m' hangin' around it a few times, he hired me an instructor." Remy chuckled to himself. "Poor guy. I t'ink he was concert pianist… graduated from Julliard. An' dere he was, stuck teachin' scales t' some scrawny little kid. 'Course, knowing Jean-Luc, da pay had t' be pretty good."

"It might not have been so bad," Xavier offered. "You're very talented."

"I always wanted t' play jazz." Remy looked far away again. "When I was a pup, dere was dis little jazz club in da Quarter. I used t' sleep in da alley out back, when I could. I loved fallin' asleep wit' da music in da background, da sounds of da crowds…" He swallowed. "But Jean-Luc wouldn't have none o' dat. Said if I was gonna play, I was gonna do it proper, learn da classics." He glanced at the Professor. "He's like dat, Jean-Luc. Very traditional, real old-school." He shrugged. "T'was okay, dough. I like da classical stuff. But still… I always wanted t' play jazz."

"But you stopped playing?" Xavier probed gently.

"Yeah. _Père_ is always havin' people over t' da mansion, like business clients or ot'er Guild leaders, people like dat. He used t' have me play f' dem. He loved showing m' off… he was so _proud_. S' when I was like, fifteen maybe, I decided t' stop playin', just t' piss him off. 's kind o' stupid when y' t'ink about it."

The Professor opened his mouth to say something, and was surprised when Remy continued.

"I told Rogue about what I did. About cheatin' on her."

Xavier settled his hands in his lap, taking a moment to process this new information. "And how did she take it?"

Remy dropped his head, shaking it ruefully. "She already knew." He looked up. "She absorbed me dat night, remember? I didn't t'ink about dat… So dis whole time, she already knew."

He swallowed. "She… _apologized _t' me-" He spat the word out like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "- for not tellin' me about her school stuff. Said she was sorry f' makin' me feel like…" He trailed off. Then, suddenly, he laughed bitterly, and Xavier could see a few tears forming in his eyes. "I must be some kind of asshole, huh?" He laughed again. "I cheat on m' girlfriend, an' she apologizes f' making me do it." He shook his head. "Hell of a guy, I am…"

The Professor leaned forward. "I think that Rogue merely acknowledges the part she played in the events that unfolded. She has emotional issues she's working though as well."

Remy narrowed his eyes upon him. "Don' make it right f' me t' do what I did."

Xavier shook his head. "No, it doesn't."

The room became silent once again, and the Professor could see Remy begin to clam up. His window of opportunity was slipping away. "Remy," he began, hoping to start up the conversation again before the young man retreated back into his defensive shell, "we need to talk about what happened this morning. The man from the Simulation, Chester Sloan… did you know him?

Remy paled, dropping his gaze to the piano in front of him. He took a deep breath before speaking. "Is… is dat his name… Sloan?"

"Yes." Xavier paused. "You didn't know his name?"

Remy shook his head slightly. "Nah, never knew dat."

"But you did know him?"

He nodded. "Yeah… in a way."

The Professor took a deep breath. "Remy, this man is a convicted child molester. Did he… abuse you when you were a child?"

"Abuse me?" He laughed awkwardly, shaking his head. "_Non_, it wasn't like dat… not exactly."

"Not exactly? Then what _was_ it like, Remy? I'm afraid I just don't understand."

Remy took a few deep breaths, reaching out and placing his hands on the front of the piano. "Okay, it's like… it's like dis." He took one last breath, training his eyes forward as he began to explain. "See, dere's somet'in' y' gotta understand. Everyt'in' in life takes money. Food, blankets… y' need money f' dose t'ings. But when y' a kid livin' on da streets, dere ain't a whole lot of ways t' earn a livin'. Dere's always pick-pocketing, but dat's risky, an' it ain't always as lucrative as you'd t'ink. So, other dan dat, dere's…" He trailed off for a moment.

"Okay, let's jus say dat N'Orleans ain't exactly de nicest city in da world, an dere are a lot of reasons why people come t' a city like dat. A lot of t'ings you can get. T'ings a kid can give y', if dat's what y' into." He swallowed, still avoiding eye contact. "It ain't somet'in' I'm proud of, but it was my choice. I did what I had t' do. An' it wasn't so bad, really. I mean, y' get used t' it, and it ain't like what dose women had t' do. Y' just go in an alley, take care o' his needs, an' y' done." He bit his lip. "Like I said, it ain't a part o' my life I'm particularly proud of, but it was my decision."

Xavier sat perfectly still in chair, trying to hide his shock from this confession. "So this Chester Sloan, he was a … _client_ of yours?"

Remy nodded. "Yeah. Most of da time, y' see a guy once, an' dat's it. But sometimes, y' get dese guys… like, frequent visitors. Dey tend t' be more… _aggressive_ about it, too. Dey're da ones y' remember, or try not to.

"But, see, I actually hadn't t'ought about him f' a long time… any of dem. So when all of a sudden he's standin' in front o' me in da Danger Room, I guess I wasn't expectin' it, and I sort of… snapped." He paused. "I'm sorry about freakin' everyone out. I didn't mean t' do dat. And I didn't mean t' scare Rogue."

He swallowed. "I told her about all dis. Figured she wouldn't calm down until she knew da whole story. 'Course, I told her about the cheatin' t'ing first. Wouldn't want her t'inkin' I was tryin' t' earn her sympathies by cryin' 'bout my crappy childhood. Either way, the whole t'ing kind of upset her."

"Remy."

"It's not a big deal," he cut in. "I… reacted badly today, but I can handle it. It's not a big deal."

"Remy," the Professor tried again, his tone softer this time, "being sexually abused as a child is not something you simply 'handle'. It _is _a big deal."

"I wasn't abused. It was my choice."

"Remy." Charles reached out, gently placing his hand on the young man's shoulder. Remy closed his eyes. "Listen to me. I know you need to feel like you were in control. I understand that's important to you. But as painful as it may be, you need to come to terms with the fact that you were a victim. You were taken advantage of."

"No." His voice shook. "I knew what I was doing."

"How could you? You were a child, Remy! You were adopted when you were ten, so you couldn't have been more than nine when--"

"Seven," Remy whispered, his eyes still clamped shut. "I started when I was seven."

Xavier squeezed his shoulder. "No seven-year-old chooses this. You were a victim, Remy."

"I was a whore."

"No," Xavier pressed, his tone gentle, but firm. "This was not your choice."

With his body still stiff, Remy reached up with a hand to cover his eyes, unable to hide the tears that slid down his face. The Professor rubbed his back slowly as the young man fought against his emotions, a choked sob finally breaking free.

"I'm so tired of being fucked-up," he cried.

Xavier nodded, though Remy continued to cover his eyes. "I'm sure you are tired. You've lived a tiring life. And it's not fair. You've endured so much, so much more than any one person should be expected to. And it isn't fair.

"But the past is only that: the past. Fair or not, there is nothing we can do to change it." He continued to soothe the young man as he sobbed. "All that we can do is acknowledge what has happened, tend to the damage done, and, hopefully, move forward." He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. "I'd like to help you do to that, Remy. Will you let me help you?"

It took a few moments for Remy to gather himself together, his eyes still covered. Finally able to control himself, his lip quivered as he spoke.

"Yes."

He cried then, and the Professor let him. Let him ceremoniously wash away the burden of twenty years of a life lived too harshly. Of a childhood too fleeting. A heart too heavy. He kept a hand on his back as a gentle reminder that help, as long as he needed it, would always be there.

The minutes passed before a quiet voice called their attention from the door.

"Remy?"

The young man finally dropped his hand then, opening his eyes and turning in his stool to face her. "_Chére_?"

Xavier wheeled back slightly, watching silently as Rogue lingered in the doorway, her eyes still teary.

"I know I said I wanted some time to myself, but…" She sniffed. "I don't wanna be alone anymore." She looked to the young man across the room, her glistening eyes pleading with him. "And I don't want you ta be alone, either." She took a tentative step forward. "I want us ta stop pushin' away from each other." She paused, her voice cracking. "I wanna be with you, Remy. Really _be_ with you."

Remy took in a shaky breath. "I want all dat, too."

She ran to him then, clutching him to her chest as she stood before him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding onto to her like a dying man on his last lifeline. She buried her face in his hair, finally shedding the tears that had been pooling in her eyes. Whether they were tears of joy or pain, it wasn't clear, but Xavier had a feeling it was a little of both. Remy cried as well, his body shaking as he clung to the young woman he loved.

The Professor left them, silently wheeling himself out of the room. They would come to him, each of them, when he was needed. He was sure of this now. As much as he regretted the pain that had to bring it about, he was filled with relief at the knowledge that he would finally be allowed to help Remy.

But _this_ moment, this wasn't for him. As the elevator doors closed behind him, he let the memory of haunting notes dance in his head, with a hope that the melody would soon be played again.

* * *

Okay, so I came up with the current plotline forever ago, but originally, I didn't know what to do with how Rogue would react to Remy cheating (or near-cheating, depending on how forgiving you are). I didn't want her having this big emotional thing to deal with in the same moment he was having this big emotional thing to deal with. I seriously lost sleep over this for like a month and a half before I realized... she knew right away that he had cheated because she absorbed him that night! It solved everything, because she could a) see it from his perspective, and b) have over a week to sort through her own feelings on the situation before he talked with her about it. Don't you love when things work out like that?

So, for our **Reviewer Quote(s) of the Week**, I'm just going to give a big SHOUT OUT to all the reviewers who caught on to this plot point right away (instead of taking a month-and-a-half to realize it like I did), and in pointing this fact out in their reviews, proved that they are ultimately smarter than me:

**Fostersb, Chica De Los Ojos Café, Maya-chan2007, starlight2twilight, pennylane87, cartoon fire, Wanda W, silver meerkat, **and **coffee-addict-always.**

You all have big, big brains, while I have a very small one. But it's cute!

And for my review plea: I actually need you all to answer a couple of questions for me for future chapters, and what better place to do that than in your review! It's small stuff, really, but it will save me the time of tedious internet research for little nitpicky things that really have no bearing on the plot in general:

1. Which is smaller, the X-Jet, or the Blackbird? Like, if you're heading across the country, you take...? Versus, you just want to hop over statelines super quick to pick up some Trader Joes trailmix because your state sucks and has no Trader Joes, you take...? I may or may not actually need this info, I'm still going back and forth here, but having it may make that decision easier.

2. What's Jamie's family deal? Like, does he have one, are they on good terms with him, etc etc. I'm talking Evo-verse, but comic cannon is interesting, too. If he doesn't have a happy, normal family situation going on, I need another character in the house that I don't commonly use that has a good standing relationship with their family. I know, vague, right?

So, I'd love it if you could just, you know, drop me a review and pop these answers in there for me as well. Oh, and it may be helpful for me to know who **all** my readers are (through your reviews, of course) so I can send you all your 3D glasses for the next interactive chapter (still working out the kinks on that one...)


	16. A Little Fall of Rain

**Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or any of its characters. I also do not own Les Misérables. Or Top Chef. Or Saving Private Ryan. Or the Muppets. **

**I think that covers all corporately-owned franchises used or mentioned in this story. Feel free to sue me if I missed anything.**

Okay, so we're shooting for a one-week interval between updates. That's good, right? Getting back to old times… Let me just say, you all seriously rock. The feedback from last chapter was insane. It was a heavy, heavy chapter, and needless to say, I was pretty nervous about putting it out there. You all have filled up my jar of warm fuzzies for the year and I love ya for it.

**Reviewer Quote of the Week:**

This was hard, actually, because I usually like to highlight the funny comments, but, well, it wasn't really a 'funny comment' producing chapter, right? So let's just give a shout-out to **Fostersb** for this eloquently worded insight into our favorite Ragin' Cajun:

_You […] really got at Remy's character, how he always wants to be in control and all the reasons why he feels that since he is unworthy of love he unconsciously screws his good relationships up to reinforce the idea that he is not good enough._

This chapter is dedicated to the Director/Writer/Producer of the incredibly dumb independent Western Musical film I'll be doing some supporting work for in a couple of months. It was in practicing my audition piece (which I chose from Les Mis, but not the song featured in this story) for said film many months ago that I came up with chapter. Ironically, I probably wouldn't have practiced so hard if I had known how completely stupid the film actually is, and thus this chapter might not have been born. I just blew your mind right there, didn't I?

* * *

_Chapter Sixteen: A Little Fall of Rain_

When it came right down to it, Remy LeBeau was sort of a crappy boyfriend. Actually, he was kind of an asshole.

He was always doing stupid things, pissing off Rogue and pushing her buttons on purpose. But he just couldn't help himself. It was unconscious. Like he was driven by an outside force that he couldn't control. Really.

"It's called 'establishing boundaries'," the Professor explained to him during one of their now weekly sessions. "It's a common phase we all go through during our toddler years."

"So, y' sayin' dat, wit' Rogue, I act like a two-year-old?"

"No," the Professor had corrected, "I'm merely saying that the behavior is common."

"Yeah… f' babies."

"Knowing the limits of what is acceptable to Rogue makes you feel more secure in the relationship," Xavier continued, clearly ignoring Remy's comment, "and when you push against her limits and she pushes back, your emotional needs are satisfied. If she rejects you, she fulfills your masochistic need to be proven unworthy, and if she forgives you, she is showing that she still cares for you despite your actions, thus pacifying any doubts you have about the relationship."

See, this is what Remy gets out of therapy, formal titles and big-worded explanations for why he sucks. 'Gee, Rogue, I bet you always wanted a boyfriend who was mature and supportive 24/7, and I'd love to be that, but, see, I have no control over my actions. It's not my fault. I'm _establishing boundaries_.'

"The point is not to use this as an excuse," the Professor had clarified. "The _point_ is for you to recognize theses impulses and make a conscious decision to react differently."

"Y' gonna have t' spell dat one out f' me, Prof."

"The next time you feel the urge to aggravate her or in some way damage the relationship," he explained, "take note of that desire, recognize it as a sign that you are feeling insecure, and communicate that insecurity to Rogue."

"Communicate?"

"Yes."

"How 'm I supposed t' do dat?"

"Well, words tend to work."

Remy scoffed. "So, dis is what y' sayin'… dat da next time 'm about t' do somet'in' stupid an' piss-off Rogue, I'm supposed t' stop an' say t' her, what… 'Excuse m', Roguey, but I'm _feeling insecure in our relationship _and would y' be s' kind as t' tell me how much y' love dis Cajun'?"

"Basically… yes."

Remy shook his head. "Yeah, dat's a great idea… an den maybe after dat Rogue an' I can go shoppin' f' my **bra**."

It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to change, because he did. As attractive as Rogue was with a flush to her cheeks and a fire in her eyes, he didn't actually enjoy upsetting her. Well, not completely. It just seemed like what the Professor was suggesting was, well, impossible. At least for him. He could totally see Scooter on a Saturday night sitting down with his girl for a long chat about his feelings and insecurities. Then again, he could also see Scott happily living as a virgin until he turned 50, getting his jollies off on the rush of responsibility and team-unity. Remy just wasn't that guy. So as much as he wanted to be that perfect boyfriend for Rogue, he figured the least he could do was make it up to her when he did screw up, which, to be honest, was sort of inevitable.

And that, in a nutshell, was why Remy LeBeau was currently resisting the urge to tug at the maddening necktie that threatened to strangle him as he paid a too-smug Cyclops fifty dollars to borrow his car. He'd done a real doozy earlier that week. Okay, so maybe it wasn't as bad as the whole bar-slut incident, but you wouldn't know it based on the tantrum Rogue threw.

She'd had plans to have lunch with Warren Worthington in the city. It was a business thing. Sort of. After the Apocalypse incident, Angel had committed himself to helping with the pro-mutant cause in whatever way he could. With his business responsibilities it was impossible for him to join the team, however, his financial contributions and connections in both the business world and the scientific community came in quite handy. The Professor found it necessary to keep Warren appraised of the happenings around the mansion so he wouldn't feel out of the loop, and thus arranged for these periodic meetings. Apparently young Mr. Worthington III had taken quite a liking to Rogue, and as such, Xavier had put her in charge of keeping in touch with Warren. As a friend. Colleague. Friendly Colleague.

Oh yeah freakin' right.

Naturally, Remy had a problem with the whole thing. First off, he wasn't all too comfortable with the idea of Xavier basically pimping Rogue out for the benefit of the Institute, or _the greater good of humanity_, if he was being generous. But even that he could sort of overlook. Truth be told, Remy himself had used his good-looks and charm to his advantage (or the Guild's. Or Magneto's) on more than one occasion. But the thing that really got him was the way she had dressed for the occasion.

She wore pearls. Honest to goodness pearls. And a cardigan. Not just any cardigan, mind you … Kitty's cardigan. And it wasn't like it was pink, or embellished with glittered unicorns or anything. In fact, it was gray, and paired with her black boots and a pair of dark skinny jeans, she still looked pretty badass, it was just… it wasn't her. Not completely. It was like she was this alternate-universe Rogue. Or, more accurately, New England Rogue. Not to say that she didn't look good, because she did, great in fact. Like she was the kind of girl who would accompany you to the country club for your mother's luncheon, and then ride you in your father's golf cart behind the 9th green afterward. It was hot as hell. But… it just wasn't her. As he watched her leave the mansion in Jean's SUV for her little lunch meeting, Remy couldn't shake the feeling that this new WASPy version of Rogue looked a little too perfectly made for someone who's name ended with a 'III'.

And he didn't like it one bit.

So of course he followed her. Xavier probably would have recommended that he stay back and wait for her to return home, at which point he could calmly discuss with her the unease he felt about her friendship with Angel. But unfortunately the little voice in the back of his head that was primarily responsible for most of his rash decisions said that the Professor could go to hell, and suggested that he steal Logan's motorcycle, reminding him to follow her at a safe and discreet distance. Of course, during the trip into New York, he had a lot of time to think, and he realized that her choice in outfit may have had more to do with the restaurant they would be eating at than the company she would be in. However, seeing as he didn't reach this conclusion until they arrived in Manhattan, Remy figured he might as well just stick around. You know, just to be safe.

And for a while, he actually kept it together. Got himself a table on the other side of the restaurant (and conveniently out of Rogue's line of vision) and just watched. Sure, if Rogue knew he was doing even that she wouldn't be thrilled, but still, it was fairly tame. That is, until he heard her laugh. In contrast to her outfit, this laugh was all Rogue, one of her really genuine laughs, all rich and bubbly. Few people had ever made her laugh like that, and he was one of them. And so, apparently, was Warren.

And that was the moment that Remy lost it. Yeah, that's right. He did the whole 'jealous idiot' thing. The whole 'marching over to their table' thing. The whole "who da hell am I? I'm her **boyfriend**, dat's who da hell I am!" thing. And, for good measure, the "look familiar, do I? Well, try picturin' m' outside y' house kickin' y' ass right after I finished kickin' y' _security system's _ass, maybe dat'll jog y' memory!" thing. It was probably a stupid incident to throw in the guy's face, seeing as he himself had been under mind-control at the time, but he figured it was still a pretty decent insult.

Needless to say, Rogue was **not **pleased. Which was why, four days later, Remy LeBeau was dressed to the nines and on his way back into the city to treat his girl to a night on the town.

It was weird, if he really thought about it. He never got jealous. Or, at least, he hadn't in the past, and in the course of his relationship with Belladonna, he'd had plenty of opportunity to. Neither one of them could really be considered 'faithful'.

Oddly enough, he had actually met Belladonna before he met Jean-Luc. As closely entwined with the Guilds as their relationship would be later on, in the beginning, they were simply two eight-year-olds who met one day on the street. Completely normal. Okay, so maybe the fact that their first meeting involved a homeless Remy helping the young Assassin Heiress fight off a trio of grown men attempting to kidnap her put the whole thing a _little_ out of the norm.

He always liked to fancy that he had saved her life that day. The reality was, Belladonna, even at the tender age of eight, was not in need of rescuing. While young Remy merely jumped from the shadows to kick at the shins of one of her attackers, Belle sent three throwing-knives to their throats before they could even reach for their guns. Even still, Remy liked the fairytale the scene created. She, the damsel in distress, and he, her knight in shining armor.

It was, perhaps, that fairytale mentality, that childish romanticism, that doomed the relationship from the start. Because, for him, it was as if the stars had aligned, and he was put on the earth to save her, to be her Prince Charming. It was love at first sight. It was, of course, the self-aggrandizing fantasy of a child who was in desperate need of something grandiose to dream about. But that's how it was, for him, before he learned of the Prophesy. Throughout their sporadic friendship while he was still on the streets, to his seemingly coincidental adoption into a warring Guild and the almost-too-perfect arrangement of their marriage, he saw her this way. Or, more importantly, he saw himself this way. Even as he climbed the trellis outside her house on the night they first made love, he felt like a brave, thirteen-year-old knight storming the castle to rescue the Princess from the loneliness of her virginity. She was not his first, of course -- just before Jean-Luc took him off the streets, one of the working women on his block took it upon herself to teach him all about the mysteries of the fairer sex -- but he was hers. It didn't matter what they each did with other people, because in the end, they were supposed to be together. And the way she looked at him, it seemed like she believed in the fantasy, too… that they were meant to be.

But that was long ago… before he learned about the Prophesy.

Remy fiddled with his fork nervously before picking lightly at the crusted edge of his scallop.

"Y' like da food?"

Rogue glanced up from her beef short rib. The lighting in the restaurant did wonders on her, warmed her up like some sort of unearthly angel. He only wished her demeanor matched in temperature. "Yeah, it's… it's good. Pretty." She paused, frowning slightly. "Still not exactly sure what 'New American' is supposed ta be."

Remy held back a sigh. She'd been cool on him all week, since the fiasco, and so far tonight things weren't changing. The drive into the city had been hell… like talking to a Muppet who's puppeteer was taking a smoke break. "Dis is Tom Colicchio's restaurant, y' know," he pointed out.

She looked back down at her plate. "I know."

"He's da guy from Top Chef," he tried again.

She looked up at him annoyed. "I _know,_" she sighed. "I was the one who got ya into the show in the first place, remember?"

This time he couldn't hold back his frustrated groan. "I jus' t'ought y' might be excited t' eat at his restaurant, seein' as y' like da show s' much."

She dropped her fork in a huff. "I don't like the show, _you _like the show. I mean, yer the one who's inta cookin' and stuff, right? That's not me."

Remy stared at her in disbelief. "Y' don' like da show? Why da hell don' y' like da show?!"

She glared at him. "Just because _you_ like somethin' doesn't mean **I **have to! We're two different people, Remy. The world doesn't revolve around you."

"I just…" He sighed, defeated. "I t'ought y' liked it. I mean, y' always make me wait 'till we can watch it together."

A little of the fire died from her eyes. "Okay, I mean, I do like it, I'm just… I'm just not as inta it as you are."

An awkward silence fell over the table.

"So," he began carefully, "y' jus' wanted t' pick a fight wit' me?"

Rogue looked down at her plate and sighed. "Yeah. Basically."

Remy leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face. "Look, _Chère_, I was stupid, okay? I get dat. I was a big idiot, I overreacted, I embarrassed y'… But 'm tryin' t' make up f' dat." He looked into her eyes helplessly. "I jus' don' know what else t' do here."

He watched as she soften slightly. "I know, Remy, and this is all really nice, it's just… did ya really think I was gonna cheat on ya with _Angel_?"

"No, _Chère_, no!" he corrected. "It ain't like dat. I trust you. I know y' wouldn't do anyt'ing like dat." He sighed for what felt like the millionth time so far that night, taking a deep breath. "Okay, da t'ing is… Well, first off, 'm _stupid_. So, y' know, dat played a big part in dere." He noticed her smile at that and relaxed a little. "And secondly… Well, y' **you**, _Chère_. I _should_ be jealous. Y' deserve better dan me, an' I know dat, but I'm jus' happy t' have y' anyway. So, when y' spendin' time wit' someone like Warren Worthington… I mean, he's a _'third'_. I'm barely a 'first'."

After a breathless moment (for Remy, at least), Rogue reached across the table, taking his hand in hers. "Yer right," she said, a twinkle in her eye. "You _are_ stupid."

He smiled. "Does dat mean y' gonna stop poutin' an' enjoy dis evenin' wit' me?"

She smiled back. "Yeah." She gave his hand a squeeze before letting go, bringing her hand back and focusing on the food in front of her. "But ya know," she interjected between bites, "ya gotta stop thinkin' about me like I'm all that… because I'm not."

He chuckled, taking a bite of his meal as well. "Whateva y' say, _ma Chérie._"

"Rems, I'm serious," she continued. "I'm just as screwed up as you are." He arched an eyebrow at her. "Okay, well, _almost_," she amended. "But, still, I'm a mess, and ya know it's true. It's probably why we're so perfect for each other…" she trailed off, taking a sip of her water.

He studied her for a moment. "Well, I'm jus' gonna have t' take y' word for it on dat whole 'mess' t'ing, cuz from where I'm sitting, y' look about as _parfait_ as a _femme _can get."

She blushed at the compliment, but it was true. Now that the chill had thawed between them, he could truly look at her, and she was stunning. In a classic black sleeveless dress and long black opera gloves, with her hair pulled back in a loose chignon, she looked like Audrey Hepburn. Well, Aubrey Hepburn with a white streak in her hair and a hell of a lot more curves.

Actually, he wasn't looking too bad himself. He always knew he could clean up pretty nicely, if he wanted to. In fact, paired with her in his crisply tailored suit and tie, he figured they probably made for a striking couple, you know, once the petty bickering was done.

But, that being said, Rogue probably did have a point. The Professor had already talked to him about the way he tended to put her on a pedestal. Apparently it's not healthy. But he couldn't help himself. A part of him would always look at her like some sort of Enchantress, and himself as a lowly thief that she, for some reason, deemed worthy enough to enter her castle. It seemed he still had a penchant for fantasy, even after all this time.

The fairytale from his childhood, however, had been shattered years ago.

That damn Prophesy. Honestly, it ruined everything, _everything_ he held dear in his life, and in amongst the wreckage left by its revelation was his relationship with Belladonna.

When he ran away from home, hiding away in his service to Magneto, he didn't really consider the fact that he was leaving his fiancé behind. In fact, he didn't even think about her until months later, and he should have, considering that they had been friends for nine years and lovers for over six. It was then, sitting on his bed in Magneto's headquarters and thinking about her for the first time since leaving, that he realized he may have never truly loved her at all.

What he had loved, it seemed, was the fairytale. The idea of it all. But none of it was real, it had all been based on a lie. Their meeting had not been the product of the stars aligning, of love at first sight. It was the fulfillment of an ancient prediction, and nothing more. In this story, he was not the Prince, but a mere pawn. And the love in her eyes was not for him… it was the love of her family, of the part she would play in the Legacy of her Guild. Belladonna Boudreaux, he had always known, was an Assassin above all else. She honored her family and her duty to it with more pride than anyone he had ever met. This he had _always_ known. And it was only in looking back that he realized that was all he had ever been to her… _le Diable Blanc._

When he returned to New Orleans almost two years later, things would never be the same between them. She was no longer his Princess, his lady in waiting. Now, she was Belladonna Boudreaux, convenient Heiress to the Assassin throne and fellow pawn in an ancient game. There was no love there, not anymore. In that time, he found that, despite the years they had spent together, he didn't even know her, not really. He knew her thighs, the softness of her skin, and the fullness of her breasts. He knew the ways to make her moan and sweat, and knew the pleasures she could give him as well. But he didn't know her. He realized then that he had been unfair to her as well. Her body he knew, but the rest… the rest was just a fantasy. He cast her in a part in his romantic flight of fancy and left it at that. In reality, he took advantage of her just as much as she or anyone did him. As time went by and he came to know Rogue better, falling for her despite his engagement and the distance between them, he realized more and more his own misdeeds in his relationship with Belle. If he were doomed to live the rest of his life in a loveless marriage of familiar convenience, he knew, in the end, he had played his own part in the tragedy.

This fact became painfully clear to him in the days that approached his would-be wedding as he realized, far too late, that he was falling, hopelessly and helplessly, in love with Rogue.

After dinner, the two of them walked down to the theater on Broadway where Remy had gotten them tickets for 'Les Misérables'. Rogue loved the book, and even though it was a musical (which made shivers of terror run down his spine), it was in French, or at least partially, or at least that's what he figured, given the title… Okay, so maybe Remy was a little apprehensive about this whole 'theater' thing. But he knew Rogue was excited, and that was all that mattered.

And, besides, he kind of liked the idea of taking his girl out to dinner and a show. He had always imagined that, if he hadn't met Rogue at such a young age, he would probably have grown into one of those '_wine 'em and dine 'em' _kind of guys. You know, the kind of guy who dressed nice, took a girl out on the town, showed her a nice time, before bringing her back to his loft in the city and making love to her all night long. Instead of his previous routine, which usually involved going to a club, getting drunk, finding someone female who was _also _drunk, and then banging them in either the bathroom or the alley out back. It worked, but it wasn't exactly classy. He always figured that, eventually, he'd end up more playboy and less, well, slut.

The show, as it turned out, was actually pretty good. Rogue had explained the plot to him beforehand, which came in handy, seeing as it was confusing as hell and everyone just kept _singing_. But, overall, it was just an extremely emotional event.

That's the other thing he's gotten out of his sessions with Xavier. Apparently, Remy had a second mutation… the power of Empathy. Or, he was an Empath. He had Empathy. Okay, so the whole thing was still pretty new, and he wasn't exactly clear on the correct phrasing. Evidently, he'd had this power all along and never cultivated it. He had always known he could do some sort of hypnotic charm thing if he wanted to -- he had done it to Rogue the first time they met on the battlefield -- but he had just always figured it had something to do with his unique eyes and left it at that. But when the Professor discovered it a few weeks ago, it was as if the floodgates had been opened and he didn't yet know how to close them back up again. That, the Professor had explained, would come in time. Until then, the flow of outside emotions pouring into him had been on overdrive. Kitty thought it was great that he was "like, totally getting in touch with your sensitive side!", but in reality, it was a little overwhelming. Just going through each day experiencing not only his own emotions, but the emotions of everyone around him was extremely tiring. Someone had decided it was a good idea to rent 'Saving Private Ryan' and have the entire mansion watch it together -- it nearly killed him. By the end of the movie he was a complete wreck, sobbing so hard that Rogue had to help him up to his room and tuck him into bed for the night. He figured the majority of that had come from Logan, who had spent the better part of the movie perched at the edge of his seat, staring intensely at the screen with one lone tear trailing down his cheek, which was sort of the Logan-equivalent to being curled up in fetal position, sucking your thumb and bawling like a baby.

But seeing 'Les Mis' on stage with his Empathy was sort of like watching it in HD. Everything was just a lot more intense, bolstered by the reactions of his fellow audience members, and compounded by the fact that a lot of it reminded him of home.

Jean Valjean reminded him a little of himself, but a lot of Jean-Luc. In fact, by the end of the musical, he was little overwhelmed by the desire to call his dad. 'Castle On a Cloud' hit a little too close to home, and he was grateful that it was such a short song, otherwise he might not have been able to hold himself together. Cosette reminded him of Rogue, not for any real reason, but just because she was beautiful, and she was innocent, and she was strong… and he loved her. But most of all, the person he kept thinking about throughout the show, strangely enough, was Belladonna. Eponine was Belle, though like Rogue, he couldn't make any sort of lateral connection… maybe that she was spoiled, and hardened, and worked for her father's gang. But even those similarities were a stretch, really. Still, there was something there that made him think of his ex-fiancé, maybe the idea of a love that would never be, and when she died, he took it pretty hard.

Even with all the years he knew her, of Belladonna, he had only one real memory.

_Don't you fret, M'sieur Marius  
I don't feel any pain_

After he killed Julien, and his powers became uncontrollable, things happened really fast. To Remy, it was almost one big blur. He was kneeling on the ground one instant, blood pooled around him in the street, and the next, he was on his bike, driving out of town for possibly the last time and headed towards an unknown man and an unknown future. Calls had been made, bags had been packed, proclamations had been decreed, but he barely remembered any of it. What he did remember was driving through the dark night on the road out of New Orleans and being nearly run off the road just past the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway.

_A little fall of rain  
Can hardly hurt me now_

"Belle."

_You're here, that's all I need to know_

"You're leavin' me again," she seethed, slamming the car door behind her as she stomped over to his side. A summer storm had set down earlier that evening, and the heavy precipitation began to drench her, her long golden locks sticking to the side of her face. "You're leavin' me again without sayin' a word, you little bastard."

_And you will keep me safe  
And you will keep me close_

He glanced at her, dismounting from his bike on the side of the road. She looked so disheveled, standing out in the rain, it was almost comical. Belladonna was always so put together. She didn't even talk with that heavy Cajun twang her father and brother did, no, not Belladonna. She was too good for that. Just a little country drawl was all she would lower herself to.

_And rain will make the flowers grow_

He shook his head. "Belle, I killed y' _frère. _An' half his friends."

"I know."

"I've been exiled."

"I_ know_!"

_But you will live, 'Ponine - dear God above  
If I could heal your wounds with words of love_

"I don' know what y' want me t' say."

_Just hold me now, and let it be_

She stood frigid. "I don't know, either."

_Shelter me, comfort me_

He sighed. "I'm sorry."

_You would live a hundred years  
If I could show you how_

Her lip trembled. "Remy, you've ruined everythin'… _**everythin'**_… and now you're just leavin' me, like this?!"

_I won't desert you now_

"I don' love you, Belle…

_The rain can't hurt me now_

… and y' don't love me."

_This rain will wash away what's past_

A wave of remorse swept over him as he watched her jaw tighten. "How dare you…" she seethed. "Like hell I don't love you!"

"You don't, Belle," he answered back, "you don't! Y' can't even stand t' look at me, y' haven't **looked **at me in years!"

_And you will keep me safe  
And you will keep me close_

She rushed forward, slapping him across the face.

_I'll sleep in your embrace at last_

He took the strike, closing his eyes and willing his breath to slow before he spoke again. "Y' don' even know me, Belle, an' I don't know you. Not really. Don' know a damn t'ing about y'. We weren't anything t' each other, an' y' know dat,"

She paused, and for the first time since he'd met her, she looked… small. "I…" She looked down. "I _thought _we were somethin'."

_The rain that brings you here  
Is Heaven-blessed!_

She looked up at him. "I know about her."

_The skies begin to clear  
And I'm at rest_

He stared at her for a moment before gathering a response. "How?"

She shook her head, laughing ruefully. "You haven't looked at me for a while, either, _Chèr_."

_A breath away from where you are  
I've come home from so far_

"I didn't mean f' it t' happen," he sighed. "But she wouldn't have changed anyt'ing. I was still gonna marry you."

Belladonna scoffed. "Lucky me."

_So don't you fret, M'sieur Marius  
I don't feel any pain_

"Belle…" he tried, stepping closer to her. "I never wanted t'ings t' end like dis. Never wanted any of dis."

_A little fall of rain  
Can hardly hurt me now_

She broke down then, sobbing into her hands. "I can't believe he's really _gone_…"

He turned his head, unable to watch her cry.

"I know y' could never forgive m', an' I won' ask y' to," he began, "but… what happened… what I did… someday, you'll move past it, you'll move on." He swallowed. "I never will. It's gonna haunt me 'till da end o' my days."

_That's all I need to know_

"So," she sniffed, her breath hitching as she fought to control it, "you're leavin'?"

He looked back at her. "Yeah."

_And you will keep me safe_

"And you're never comin' back?"

"Dat's what dey said."

_And you will keep me close_

She moved in front of him, cupping his chin with her hand.

_And rain_

She kissed him.

_Will make the flowers... _

"'Bye, Remy."

_grow_

When the show ended, they took their time walking back to the car, Rogue's arm tucked in the crook of his elbow. It was a mild summer night, and his head was full of fuzzy thoughts, all swollen and undefined, but it didn't matter. She felt nice leaned up against his arm as they strolled leisurely down the street.

On the drive back to Bayville, she fell asleep in the car, and Remy let her. She'd gotten up early that morning for a partial-team DR session, and the hour was late. Besides, the way she was slumped over in the seat, she looked like an angel. She had taken her hair down, and the dark tresses fell across her shoulders in almost-perfect ringlets.

As he drove in silence, the dark highway stretching out in front of him, he thought a little of Belle, but mostly of Rogue.

His relationship with her was so different from what he had had before. It wasn't a fairytale. Actually, it was kind of hard. They hadn't had sex, and yet he felt as if he had already given so much more of himself to her before ever having given her his body. It was real, and gritty, and painful… and probably the best thing that had ever happened to him.

As they arrived back at the mansion, he pulled the car into the garage and quietly turned off the engine, turning to watch Rogue as she slept. She and the Professor were right… she wasn't perfect. She had flaws, really big ones. She was abrasive, quick-tempered, distant, impulsive, and insecure… he could see all of this. And that was how he knew that he loved her… without the fantasy.

"Rogue, _Chère_," he called out to her gently, nudging her in her seat.

"Hmmm…" she mumbled, her eyes slowly opening. She sat up in her seat, languidly rousing from her slumber. "We're here?"

"Yeah," he smiled. He reached out and took her hand. "I love you."

Her eyes widened slightly as she moved to sit up straighter. "Wh… huh?"

"I said 'I love you'," he repeated. He couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face. "I love you."

Her eyes watered as she tried to blink back the tears. He knew this meant a lot to her. He hadn't been able to say it for months, since before his stabbing. But for the first time, he wasn't afraid.

"I love you," he repeated once more, enjoying the way the words sounded rolling off his tongue without his heart pounding in his ears.

She bit her lip. "I love ya, too, Rems."

He took the hand he was holding and brought it to his lips, kissing her covered knuckles gently. "I know."

So maybe he wasn't the perfect boyfriend. That was okay. He was trying, after all, and he was getting better, little by little. Their relationship wasn't perfect, but it was perfect for them, perfect enough.

Because it was real.

* * *

I feel the need to point out that, although I am completely in love with the music in Les Misérables, I am not, NOT, a crazy Les Mis fan. I am not a Mis-head. I do not belt out "Do you hear the people sing?" at random moments. I do not wear a Les Mis tour-shirt to formal events. I do not believe that somehow a part of my soul really **was** on that wall. You people, you know who you are. And you're strangely proud of all this, aren't you?

[I also feel the need to point out that I am respectfully afraid of crazy Les Mis fans. You all are oddly strong for theater geeks and you tend to travel in packs. Like the mob. I kiss your cheeks reverently.]

Thanks a bundle everyone for your answers to last chapter's questions. As for Question 1, I think I may not even use that info, seeing as the answers varied and my other option is seeming more plausible anyway. And for Question 2, I'm liking the suggestion of using Sam, he actually fits in perfectly.

So, I've got another one for you. I'm looking for an accurate description of Mass. Not any special Mass, like for a holiday, just your average Sunday service. It will be the backdrop for part of a chapter, and I want to be respectful. I hate when I see aspects of my own religion used in television or movies inaccurately. Even if it's not disrespectful per se, it's like, do your research! So, on Mass, what I've found so far has been… confusing, to say the least. I just want to get it right, and it doesn't even have to be that detailed. So, if anyone knows of a good site to turn me on to, or wants to send me a PM with their own personal experiences, that'd be great.

Oh, and review, too. Can you believe I almost forgot about that? Me, of all people… Yeah, drop me a review, please. I sort of crave them.


	17. Der Tueffel in Mir

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, and nothing owns me. We are all alone. Every man is an island.**

As always, I want to send a big squishy hug of thanks to all my readers for your wonderful support. Strangely, though, I missed some of my loyal reviewers last chapter. Now, normally I wouldn't complain, but given the material in the chappy, I'm a little suspicious. I think the crazy Les-Mis fans slaughtered some of my beloved reviewers as payback for using one of the songs without express written permission. I know what you're thinking, they should be _happy_ because I used one of the songs in my story, but remember: they're** crazy**. So, to the fallen: I apologize for your untimely deaths and will send flowers to your grieving loved ones as soon as possible.

_**Reviewer Quote of the Week:**_

**Ishandahalf**: Xavier made a very interesting point at why Remy always picks fights with Rogue... his advice reminded me of something you'd say to a petulant toddler or something, lol - 'use your WORDS, dear'.

This cracked me up because I have a 1-1/2 year-old and a four-year-old, so I use that expression a LOT. And then I tend to get things thrown in my face.

And, as a close second:  
**LaceyLou76: **"'M gonna kill ya, Remy LeBeau fo' what y' did t' moi!"

Okay, I don't know why, but that sends me into a fit of giggles every time I read it, which, honestly, has been several times, because I like giggling.

This chapter was inspired by no one, so I'm going to dedicate it to **Kurt the Amazing Teleporting Fish**, just cuz he's funny, and I will always be a fan of unintentionally-reoccurring gags. Miss you, Chellers!

* * *

_Chapter Seventeen: Der Tueffel in Mir_

"Oh my word, Remy… yer hair!"

He tried to ignore her as she giggled (honest to goodness, _giggled_), the vibrations tickling his chest where she was pressed up against him, a stack of photos in her hands. They were both stretched out on the couch in the rec room, Remy squished up on his side against the back, his head propped up in his hand as he faced the television, with Rogue laid out on her back in front of him.

"What about m' hair?" he asked absently, his focus still on the program he was watching.

Rogue was continuing to fight back her giggles. "Nothin'…" she answered coyly. "It was just… so _long_!"

Reluctantly, he glanced down at the photo in her hand. "Oh yeah, I was like… sixteen in dat photo? Used t' keep it like dat before Magneto made m' cut it." He turned back to his show before frowning. "Y' don' like it?"

Rogue grinned as she moved on to the next photo in her hand. "It's not that I don't like it, it's just… it's long! I mean, I thought what ya had goin' on now was gettin' long, but it's more like shaggy compared at _that_," she said, holding up another photo of a teenaged Remy. "_That_ is long. I mean, you could put that in a ponytail if ya wanted. It's like 'Kurt Cobain' long."

Remy furrowed his brow. "I have no idea who dat is, _Chère_."

She waved him off as she continued to examine the pictures. "Grunge singer, early 90's."

Rogue had begun corresponding with Henri. It was a semi-ingenious plan his brother had come up with to keep in touch with him, even if indirectly. When Henri had returned home after his visit in March, he'd gotten an earful from the Guild Elders as well as his father. 'Exile' meant no contact; no phone calls, no emails, and certainly no pop-in visits. However, there was no Guild law that prevented him from sending letters to _Rogue_. As long as they didn't include any specific message to or from Remy, technically, it was all above board. Henri would frequently comment to her how much he happened to miss his little brother, who was far away, and hoped that he was doing alright. Rogue would mention how the students at the Institute were well, though many of them missed their older siblings back home, and talked about them frequently. It was all very stupid and round-about, but at least it kept both Henri's record and his conscience clean.

In his last letter, Henri had decided to include a stack of photos for Rogue to peruse, all of which conveniently featured a certain demon-eyed brother of his. Remy made a mental note to kick Henri in the shins the next time he saw him.

"Aw, baby Remy!" Rogue exclaimed as she flipped to a new picture, one of the earlier ones taken of him just after he was adopted into the Guild. She started giggling again. "Oh my gosh, Rems, you were so freakin' cute… look at that face!"

Uncomfortable with this kind of attention, he tried to ignore her, keeping his eyes on the TV in front of him. "Hush girl," he muttered, snaking his arm around her waist. "I can't hear da show."

She gave him a sideways glance. "Seriously?" She raised her eyebrow at him. "It's about truck-stops. _Truck-stops_. And how does that qualify as a 'Modern Marvel', anyway? I mean, I'll give ya 'Modern', but 'Marvel'? How exactly is a truck-stop a _marvel_?

"Maybe if y' shut up," he teased, "I could find out."

""Whatever," she huffed. "When you were watchin' 'James Bond Gadgets' I stayed quiet--"

"Complete load o'…" he muttered.

"-- and even that 'Da Vinci Tech' one was kinda cool, but this… this is just stupid. I'm talkin' as much as I want." She turned her attention back to her photos. "Yer just embarrassed about how adorable you were… Look at you in yer little swimsuit there, yer like a baby Calvin Klein model, with those defined cheekbones already. I could just pick ya up and put ya in my pocket."

Remy scowled, giving up on his program and snuggling in closer to her. "Stop sayin' 'baby', I was like 10-years-old dere."

"Aw," Rogue teased, sticking out her bottom lip. "Does wittle Wemy not wike bein' cawed a baby?"

He furrowed his brow at her. "Are you high?"

She laughed, leaning into him and tangling a leg around his. "Nah, I'm just havin' fun. I like seein' these old pictures of ya. Okay, wait a second," she frowned, flipping to the next picture, "this doesn't make any sense. Henri's got these all out of order." She turned the picture over, reading the writing on the back. "'March 12th, Remy's first haircut'. Okay, I got it now, this is the earliest one, right?"

Remy glanced down at the photo in her hands of his younger self, sitting on a kitchen stool with half of his shoulder-length hair buzzed off. "Yeah, dat was da day after Jean-Luc brought m' home. Tante couldn't get a comb t'rough m' hair, so we had t' buzz it."

Rogue chuckled. "Ya look pissed."

He smiled. "I was. Always hated havin' m' hair short. At least wit' Magneto I got paid f' it."

"Yeah, well," she started, moving on to the next picture, "I just hope he paid you a pretty penny for that mushroom-cut."

Remy's jaw dropped. "It was not a 'mushroom-cut'!" he protested.

"Sugah," she said, patting him on the cheek, "trust me… it was a mushroom-cut."

He scowled. "Y' only saw me wit m' headpiece on." He pouted. "Normally it laid down better an' was very attractive."

"'_Very attractive'_?" she mocked. "Whatever, baby." She reached up, brushing back the fringe from his eyes. "I think what y' got goin' on right now is 'very attractive'. Very 'Jordan Catalano', early season."

"Who da hell is Jordan Catalano?"

She turned in to him, the pile of photos spilling out between them. "He was a character on this show 'My So-Called Life', back in '94."

"'94? Y' weren't even born in '94."

"Not even-- Remy, how old do ya think I am?"

He chuckled. "I don' know, I jus' didn' wanna do da math."

She scoffed. "Doesn't matter, anyway, I watched it on Hulu last week. I'm on a 90's kick right now. Anyway," she continued, "he was played by Jared Leto, who's a total buck."

"'_Total buck_'?" he teased. "Y' need a new roommate, _Chère_."

"Come to think of it," she continued, ignoring his insult, "Yer a lot like Jordan Catalano. I mean, you've got the hair, yer gorgeous, and there's that whole wounded bad-boy thing, and the lips, and the _leaning_…" Her eyes grew wide. "Oh my gosh, Remy. You **are** Jordan Catalano! I'm _datin'_ Jordan Catalano!"

He looked at her as if she'd grown a second head. "Yeah, y' **really** need a new roommate."

"Although, actually," she hesitated, the excitement draining from her face, "yer not as much of an ass as he is. I mean, yer an ass, but not as consistently. And yer not so vapid, or shallow. And ya don't smoke pot. And yer not illiterate." She paused. "Okay, so maybe yer not Jordan Catalano." She smiled up at him. "Except for the hair."

"Rogue, _mon coeur_," he whispered, leaning his head forward, a breath away from her, "y' making me really self-conscious about m' hair."

"Ah, come on…" she cooed, reaching up to trace the day-old stubble along his jaw line. "Ya know yer beautiful."

"Of course," he answered automatically. He did know it. He had known he was attractive since long before it was appropriate for him to be.

She sobered suddenly, her green eyes looking over him with a seriousness that intrigued him as much as it frightened him. "Remy," she said softly, her eyes locking onto his, "it's true, ya know. You _are _beautiful." She smiled lightly, placing her hand over his heart. "In every way possible."

He felt his chest expand and he swallowed audibly. "I wanna kiss y', _Chère_." He reached out the hand that had been holding up his head, running his fingers through the hair at her temples, brushing it back. They hadn't touched since she had absorbed him.

She tilted her head up towards him. "I wanna kiss ya, too."

"Do y'…" He stumbled. He was nervous. It was odd. "Do y' wan' me t' try usin' m' powers, like da Professor said?"

She brought the hand on his chest up to slowly snake around the back of his neck. "Sure," she breathed, her voice soft and incredibly seductive. "No time like the present, right?"

Tentatively, he opened his empathy up, sending out calming waves, making her feel more relaxed, in control. Calm. Only calm. That was his job, to take some of the strain off of Rogue. It took an amazing amount of control and restraint on his part, as well, to make sure not to accidentally go too far and manipulate her emotions to his own desires. These powers were still new to him, after all. It made the whole 'touching' thing a lot harder for him, but it also made it a little easier for her, evening the playing field. Feeling her ease slightly in his arms, he leaned in, cautiously touching his lips to hers.

No pull.

They started slow. After all, it was an exercise in control for both of them. Gently, their lips caressed one another. The arm around her waist crept lower, his fingers unconsciously seeking out the small sliver of exposed skin below the hem of her shirt. He suppressed a groan as she shifted unimaginably closer, her hips pressing into his. The kiss deepened and his fingers traveled lower, seemingly of their own accord, to slip beneath the waistband of her jeans towards her perfect little ass as she--

*BAMF*

"I thought I vould find you two in-- **AH**! _Meine Augen_!!"

Remy sighed, reluctantly loosening his hold on her as she broke the kiss. He pecked her forehead gently before releasing her, shifting to sit up and as she did the same.

"Damn it, Kurt, calm down," Rogue grumbled as she adjusted her shirt. "We were just kissin'. It's not like we were in here makin' babies or anythin'."

Kurt crossed his arms as he stood in front of them. "Give me a break, vould ya? You're my sister, _und_ normally you _can't touch_, so excuse me if zhe sight of you two sucking face on zhe couch comes as a bit of a shock."

"Kurt," Remy cut it, "What d' y' want?" He was more than a little annoyed at the interruption, and wanted nothing more than for the furry blue elf to get on with his business and leave, so they could resume their previous activity.

"Vell, first off, I vanted to encourage you two to come outside vith everyone."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Ya know we can't do that, Kurt." Summer was a difficult time for both Southerners now. Rogue's necessary layers made the stifling temperatures outside nearly unbearable, and Remy's already light-sensitive eyes had become even more sensitive after Essex had gotten a hold of him. Apparently the prolonged experimentation on his orbs made it nearly impossible for him to be out in the bright summer sun by the middle of the day, even with his shades on. On a positive note, his new sensitivity gave him the perfect excuse to hole up inside with Rogue. He would have done it anyway, just to keep her company, but now she couldn't feel guilty about it.

"All I'm saying," Kurt protested, "is zhat you guys should try it. I'm sure ve could make some shade for you. At zhe very least it would take away zhe temptation to lay around all day '_makin' babies_'."

Remy scowled. He threw an arm around Rogue's shoulder. "Get t' y' 'second off' before I stop carin' an' start up da baby makin' in front o' y'."

Kurt paled for a second before getting to the point. "Rogue, I vanted to invite you, **again**, to come vith me to church on Sunday. Please?"

Remy felt her stiffen against him. "I can't, Kurt. I'm leavin' on that mission tomorrow, remember? Sorry."

It was Kurt's turn to roll his eyes. "Nice try, Rogue. Kitty says you guys are coming home on _Friday_. Even if somezhing goes wrong, that still gives you **plenty** of time to get back before Sunday Mass."

"Look," Rogue started, leaning forward, "it's great that you've reconnected with yer faith and all, but why do I have ta be a part of it?"

"Because," Kurt countered, stepping closer, "you're my sister. Zhis is a big part of my life now, and I want you to understand it. I'm not saying zhat you have to believe vhat I believe… I'm not even asking you to come every week. Just zhis once, please, come vith me. Support your brother."

The room was filled with a pregnant pause before, finally, Rogue sighed in resignation. "Just this once?"

Kurt beamed. "You'll come?!"

"Only if ya promise ta stop buggin' me about it."

"Promise."

"And it's a one-time deal."

"If you vish. Zhe invitation, of course, vill always be open."

Rogue paused. "And Remy comes, too."

Remy, who had been watching the exchange in silence, sat up straighter in his seat. "What?!"

Kurt smiled. "Zhat's a great idea! You are Catholic, too, _ja_?"

He frowned. "_Oui, mais _I said all m' halleluiah's long ago. 'm done wit' dat." He turned to glare at Rogue. "Why y' gotta drag m' inta dis?"

She smirked. "If I have ta suffer, yer sufferin' with me."

"Well, dat's very noble o' you, _Chère_," he drawled sarcastically, "but I ain't going."

"Aw, please Rems?" she cooed, a sly smile upon her lips. Turning towards him, she leaned in, reaching up and trailing a seductive finger along his chest. "It'll be good for our relationship. 'We need to grow and expand together… _as a couple_.'" The two had nearly laughed their asses off when Jean had used that line the previous night at dinner in an attempt to convince Scott to sign them up for ballroom dancing lessons. The saddest part had been that it had actually worked.

Damn her and her irresistible body. It didn't help that she now had her breasts pressed lightly against his torso as she leaned into him. With the recent lingering memory of her fingers in his hair and her tongue in his mouth, resistance was a lost cause.

He didn't stand a chance.

"_Fine_…" he groaned.

"Thanks, baby," she whispered, placing a quick, feather-soft kiss on his earlobe.

Kurt feigned a gag in front of them. "Ugh, you two are getting vorse zhan Scott and Jean. So, you are both coming?"

Rogue sighed, pulling away and sitting back on the couch. "Yeah, we're comin'."

"Great!" Kurt exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Now, vith zhat settled, I'm leaving before the pet-names and sweet-nozhings start." With that, he teleported away, leaving behind a cloud of sulfurous smoke.

Rogue groaned, slouching down further into the couch. "Can ya believe all this? I mean, in theory, if he's happy, I'm happy, it's just… I don't get why he's so gung-ho on the whole 'God' thing all of a sudden." She turned to look at him. "Did I tell ya he's thinkin' of becoming a Priest?"

Remy chuckled. "I wonder if he's told Amanda dat."

"Well, seeing as she hasn't dumped him yet, I'm guessin' 'no'." She pushed back the white fringe from her face with an air of annoyance. "The whole thing is just so weird and pointless. What in the world would possess a teenage boy to contemplate living a life of **celibacy** all in the name of some Higher Power that doesn't even exist?"

"_Chère_!" Remy exclaimed, jumping back slightly (perhaps to avoid being struck from above) and unconsciously crossing himself. "Y' can't jus' say stuff like dat!"

Rogue stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "What?" She paused. "Ya don't honestly still believe all that junk… do ya?"

"'Course I do," he replied indignantly, shifting away an inch or so further (He wasn't exactly sure what was a safe buffering distance from a lightning strike. Maybe he should talk to Storm about that).

"How can ya say that?" Rogue pushed. "Ya don't go ta church, and practically yer whole life is devoted ta sin. No fornicatin', no stealin'… ain't those a part of that list of 10 big no-nos?"

He chuckled. "That's one way o' sayin' it."

"So, how can ya honestly say ya believe in God if ya clearly don't give a damn about His rules?"

He shook his head. "It's… it's complicated."

It _was_ complicated. Members of the Thieves' Guild, traditionally, were devote Catholics. Under Jean-Luc's reign, for the New Orleans's guild at least, Mass attendance was all but mandatory. Be there, or face the King's wrath. Not that the weekly (and sometimes bi-weekly) sessions with God kept them from their lifestyle of debauchery. No, of course not. Apparently the Thieves had no intention of changing their ways, but found it necessary to be acutely aware of just how secure their spot in Hell really was.

Remy, on the other hand, knew exactly where he was going, and after so many years, grew tired of being reminded. He couldn't bear it, staring into that sorrowful face that hung upon the cross, reminding him of all those wasted drops of blood He had shed for him. It grated on him. The last time he had set foot in a church had been for his cousin Etienne's funeral-- the first of many deaths that he knew fell upon his head. After that, he just couldn't take it. It was worth his father's wrath… _that_ he could take.

But despite this, he still believed God existed. He had always known this, and his faith was renewed every time he looked in the mirror. It was hard not to believe in God if you believed in the Devil, and it was impossible not to believe in the Devil when you had his eyes.

It seemed, however, that God didn't need Remy's attendance at Mass to keep him under His thumb. Apparently, the Man Upstairs couldn't wait till death for Remy to begin paying for his sins, or so it seemed. All the bad things that happened in his life, all the tragedy he had seen and the pain he had endured, he knew… it was his purgatory. He may have pushed God aside, but God hadn't forgotten about him, and He made sure that Remy knew of the price still waiting to be paid.

For example: he hadn't slept for a week and a half. Half an hour at most each night. If that wasn't Hell on earth, he wasn't exactly sure what was.

Remy was no stranger to nightmares, but the ones he'd been having lately took it to a whole other level. They had started the night after his weekly session with the Professor. Xavier had done an astral-plane evaluation of the psychic surgery Essex had performed to control his evolving powers. The examination, while particularly fascinating to the telepath who was unfamiliar with the practice of psychic surgery, had triggered something. Suddenly, he was plagued by nightmares of his time with Sinister that were far more vivid and terrifying than any he had experienced to date. Instead of playing out like lingering memories, as they had in the past, the dreams he had now felt like reality. In them, he couldn't tell the difference between awake and asleep, and when he did wake up, his limbs still ached and his eyes still hurt and there was a sharp pain at the base of his skull.

That first night, Logan had to shake him out from the clutches of his nightmare, having been awoken himself by Remy's screams of pain. Apparently, he'd woken up nearly the entire mansion. It scared the shit out of everyone. Xavier scanned his mind only to find that they were, indeed, only dreams, despite their graphic intensity. There was nothing that could be done, as it was simply something his mind needed to work through. Theoretically, they would go away, eventually.

Remy could handle that, or so he figured. After all, as miserable as they were, they were only dreams. They couldn't actually hurt him (although, technically, they _did_ hurt). Unfortunately, despite his resolve to ride it out, a part of him was still terrified enough to keep him from falling asleep the next night. For hours he lay awake in his bed, attempting every calming technique he had ever heard of, trying to slow his heart rate enough to succumb to slumber. Finally, around 4am, his body gave in, only to be jolted awake twenty minutes later with a scream in his lungs and Essex's cold, chilling voice still in his head.

"_Such a fascinating mutation… And to think, you came to me voluntarily. Let's try to keep you alive, shall we? An untimely death seems an unfortunate reward for your willing contributions to science."_

That second nightmare made it clear that this would, indeed, be a nightly occurrence, which only made it even harder for him to calm his nerves enough to sleep, despite his growing fatigue. Remy was still undecided on which was worse: the hours of laying awake trying his damnedest to relax, or waking up drenched in sweat and aching all over from the dreams. It was a toss-up.

So far, he'd tried just about everything to fall asleep. A long, hot bath before bedtime did nothing. Warm milk was just gross. Chamomile tea was even grosser. Reading and watching TV only taught him that A) he really needed to expand his vocabulary, and B) late night television programming sucked. Hank had tried to convince him to take a sedative, but the idea of being trapped in a nightmare for the duration of a long, medically-induced sleep was enough to make his toes curl.

Rogue had offered to sleep with him (in only the literal sense, of course) one night, and while he appreciated the sentiment, that turned out to be the worst of all his sleep-inducing experiments. Being a troubled sleeper herself, he hated the thought that he might wake her up, thus he spent the majority of the night wide awake in his bed, trying with all his might to stay as still and quiet as humanly possible. When he did finally fall asleep, just before the sun came up, he ended up clocking her in the nose as he thrashed around in the throws of another nightmare. It had been a particularly bad one, recounting the actual surgery.

"_A pity you must remain awake for the procedure, LeBeau, but I fear my scientific curiosity has simply gotten the better of me. Psychic surgery, along with requiring less equipment, also eliminates blood loss, making it possible for you to remain conscious. I simply must know… precisely, how __**much **__does this hurt?"_

After a week, Remy discovered that the best solution was for him to fall asleep during the day. One morning, having gone through the entire night without rest, he inadvertently fell asleep at the breakfast table. Finding that he had dozed off, Rogue had silently ushered everyone out of the kitchen, leaving him to slumber as he slumped down in his chair. He had been awoken by a nightmare, as usual, but at least that time he'd gotten almost an hour of sleep under his belt before it happened. The next day he nodded off in the driver seat of the X-van (while it was still parked in the garage, thank goodness). He was supposed to be on his way to the hardware store when he closed his eyes for a moment after buckling in. That one had been a little embarrassing, but the eighty minutes of sleep had been worth it.

The only problem with falling asleep at random moments during the day was that sometimes you missed out on important events…. like saying goodbye to your girlfriend before she leaves on a group mission for three days.

Remy awoke with a start (the memory of the suction ring around his eye still vivid in his mind) to find that he was alone, slumped down on top of the war room table, a small puddle of drool resting near where his mouth had previously resided. He rubbed his eyes as he sat up in his chair, trying to recount exactly how he had fallen asleep. The last thing he remembered was gathering around the table with the entire team as they were briefed about the mission that Jean, Rogue, Kitty, and Bobby would be leaving on after the meeting. It was a simple meet-and-greet operation; they had appointments set up around the Midwestern states to touch base with the families of a few low-level mutants, the type who had their mutations under control and really had no need to take up residence at the Institute but would contact the Professor with the occasional question. One was a girl from Cleveland who's fingernails changed colors depending on her mood. Another was a boy from Detroit who could translate any language in his head. There were more, but Remy couldn't remember anything about them, which, he figured, was the point in Scott's speech where he had nodded off.

In theory, it was a fairly mundane trip, but it was also the first "mission" to be taken without a Senior Adult Member in charge. Rogue, despite herself, had actually been pretty excited about it, and now, sitting alone in the war room, Remy was fairly disappointed that he had missed his chance to see her off. As he stood up to leave the room, he almost missed the note that had been left for him on the table.

_R-_

_Sorry we didn't get a chance to say goodbye, but I figured you needed your sleep. Plus, you look cute when you drool. I'll call and check in when we get to our first appointment. See you in three days._

_-R_

_PS, Scott was pretty pissed that you fell asleep while he was talking. Try being nice to him today, okay?_

_PPS, If your suit needs dry-cleaning, you better send it today, because you're coming with me on Sunday whether it's clean or not._

Remy stared flabbergasted at the paper in his hand. '_Damn_'. Either the girl was part psychic, or she knew him too well, because he actually **had** been planning on using the 'dirty suit' excuse to get out of attending Mass with her and Kurt. Reluctantly, he shoved the note in his pocket as he headed off for his room to fetch the garment in question.

The first two days of Rogue's absence were, for the most part, uneventful and boring. Even though it was summer and the kids were out of school, Remy's daily routine had remained pretty much the same. He still had his chores around the mansion to do and spent a portion of his day working through his GED prep packet. The one advantage to not having his girlfriend around, however, had been the opportunity to have pointless, guilt-free 'boy time'. Sam's parents had sent him a new gaming system and a copy of 'Halo' as a reward for his good grades, and the males of the mansion had taken to it like fish to water. Yes, he missed Rogue, but hours spent hunting down cyber-Germans with a virtual machine-gun helped to fill the void.

On the third day, something happened.

Having just finished his weekly session with the Professor, Remy made his way up the stairs towards his room to get changed. Logan was meeting him in the Danger Room for a one-on-one sparring session. He made it three-quarters of the way up the stairs when, suddenly, the world turned off.

His vision went black and all sound died out.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back at the bottom of the stairs, his legs strewn out awkwardly across the bottom few steps. He blinked several times, his fuzzy view of the ceiling above him coming into focus.

"Remy?!"

Suddenly, Piotr, who must have been in the hall at the time, was at his side. "Remy, are you alright? What happened?"

He tried to mentally put two words together to respond as he heard someone loudly thumping down the stairs towards them. It was Logan.

"Damn, Gumbo," he exclaimed as he kneeled down beside him, "you scared the shit out of me! What the hell happened, did ya trip or something?"

He tried to think for a second. His shoulder hurt. Had he tripped? He remembered ascending the stairs, one foot in front of the other, same as usual, and then-- nothing.

He hadn't tripped.

"No," he finally responded.

Something seemed to shift in the air. Piotr's eyes got wide, Logan's face turned serious, and Remy felt his heart rate quicken.

"Alright, I'm getting Hank." Logan stood up. "Pete, stay with him, don't let him move."

"Why, is he hurt?" The slight tremor in Piotr's voice made Remy's head swim.

"I don't know, but with that fall, he should be checked for spinal injury. Just stay there." With that, Logan was off.

The two minutes that they waited for Hank went by in a blur. He could hear Piotr talking to him, reassuring him that everything would alright, but he couldn't pull himself together enough to form a response.

Finally, Logan and Hank arrived back at the scene, the latter pulling a rolling gurney behind him. The doctor knelt down beside him, and Remy felt his furry fingers on the back of his neck.

"Any pain here, Remy?" Hank asked.

"No."

"Any stiffness?"

"No."

"Okay," Hank said after a moment, pulling his hands away and sitting back, "his neck looks clear. Let's get him on the gurney."

Remy closed his eyes as the three men carefully lifted him up and placed him on the gurney. As they rolled him to elevator, he felt like vomiting.

"Remy," Hank's voice called to him. He opened his eyes. "I need you to tell me what happened."

He swallowed. "I don' know. I jus' blacked out." The elevator doors closed.

"Did you feel faint or dizzy beforehand?"

He shook his head. "No."

"How about now?"

"No."

"Any head pain?"

He thought about that one for a moment. Surprisingly, his head felt fine.

"How about everywhere else? Any pain or discomfort?"

"M' shoulder's sore, I t'ink I hit it on da stairs," Remy muttered. "An' I feel sick."

"He looks very pale," Piotr noted.

"Yes," Hank replied, "I believe he is going into shock. It's to be expected. Remy?" Hank called out to him as the elevator doors opened on the lower level. "I need you to try to control your breathing. Concentrate on taking slow, deep breaths through your nose. Can you do that? Just focus on your breathing and we'll take care of everything else."

Remy nodded weakly in response. Okay… slow, deep breaths. He could do that. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

The gurney stopped just outside the med bay doors. Hank leaned over him.

"Remy, are you calm?" He nodded in response. "Good. Now, we're going to take you into the med bay now. I understand your abhorrence, but I need you to be cooperative when we get in there. You appear to be fine right now, but any unexplained cerebral event should be taken very seriously. There are several tests that I need to run. Do you think you can handle that?"

Remy swallowed. He did hate the med bay, and the thought of having the good doctor performing "tests" on him, of any kind, sent chills down his spine, especially given his recent nightmares…. but he didn't want to die. Whatever had just happened to him, he couldn't explain it-- and that was scary as hell.

"Yeah," he replied, wishing that his voice had come out a little steadier than it had. "Let's do it."

When Hank said "several tests", he wasn't kidding. Vitals check, Neuro-functions, Head CT, MRI, along with a laundry list of blood-work tests that practically required draining him empty, or so it seemed. By the end, he felt like crying, or, more accurately, he felt like he'd already been crying, for hours, and that panicky fatigue of post-emotional breakdown was setting in. His calming breathing mantra of "In, Out" was no longer working.

Having finished taking his blood samples, Hank retreated back to his lab to begin the tests, leaving Remy alone in the med bay with Logan. He sat, propped up awkwardly in the stiff hospital bed, as the feral man stood at his side. He closed his eyes and hoped against all hope that Logan couldn't tell that he was sort of freaking out. That'd be a little embarrassing.

Logan grunted, clearing his throat and breaking the silence that had fallen over the room. "So, ya oughta rest, like Hank said."

Remy nodded, not trusting enough that his voice wouldn't shake or he wouldn't empty his stomach contents to speak.

"You, uh… ya want me to call Rogue, have them come back early?"

He shook his head. Man, he must really look pathetic. It was nice offer, and in reality he _did_ want her by his side, more than anything, but it came off like Logan was asking if he needed his Mommy.

"Nah, you're probably right," Logan agreed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "They'll be back tomorrow, anyway. It'd be a waste for them to skip their last appointment just to save a few hours." He paused. "You sure you're alright, Gumbo?"

Remy took a slow, deep breath. He nodded his head.

And then turned away and vomited over the bedrail.

He opened his eyes, taking in the mess he'd made on the med bay's linoleum floor. Okay, _now_ he was officially embarrassed.

"_Desolè_," he muttered.

Logan, surprisingly, was cool about the whole thing. Acted like nothing happened. "Don't worry about it," he replied, handing him a tissue to wipe his mouth. "We'll get someone to clean it up." He paused. "Berserker still owes me detention time."

It was probably supposed to be a joke, but Remy didn't feel like laughing, and quite frankly, Logan just wasn't that funny.

"Could y'…" Remy spoke up slowly, no longer caring how much his voice shook, "Could y' go get Hank f' me? Maybe I want dat sedative he's been offerin' now."

Logan nodded wordlessly before leaving the room, returning a minute later with Dr. McCoy in tow.

"I think this is a very good idea, Remy," Hank announced as he entered, a small vial and syringe in his hands. As he prepped the medication, he continued. "I can't imagine how you've been functioning with your body so fatigued. It's a little after four now, so hopefully with this you'll simply sleep until morning." He lifted Remy's shirt sleeve, swabbing a small area with alcohol. "If you do happen to wake up in the middle of the night, I'll be in my lab. Just call out to me and I can give you another dose. Alright, just a small prick now."

Remy gritted his teeth as the injection was administered. When it was over, he laid down, closing his eyes and curling up on the uncomfortable bed. He heard Logan step closer.

"You cold, kid?"

He shook his head. "'m fine."

A few moments later, a warm, heavy weight swept down upon him as a thick blanket was laid on top of him. He opened his eyes, looking up at Logan questioningly.

"You were shivering," the older mutant explained. He sat down in the chair beside the bed, reaching out and placing a hand on his head. Remy closed his eyes again. "How long 'till this stuff kicks in?" he heard Logan ask.

Hank's voice drifted over from the other side of the room. "The medication should take effect shortly."

"Ya hear that?" Logan said softly. "Just a little bit longer." He kept his hand on Remy's head, still, unmoving. The weight of it, like the heavy blanket, was oddly comforting.

Remy began to feel his senses dull as the sedative worked its way through his system. "Logan," he slurred, "y' don' have t'--"

"I know," he cut him off. "Just relax, okay kid? I'll be right here."

As the medication continued to pull him under, he surrendered to its will, leaving the memory of needles and blood-work and hospital beds and madmen behind him as he focused on the weight of the hand upon his head, and the desperate hope for a dreamless sleep.

When he awoke the next morning, it was a slow, peaceful reentry into the land of consciousness. His eyes still closed, he languidly became aware of his senses. The bed he was lying on was hard and uncomfortable, but he was just so incredibly _warm_, he couldn't have cared less. As he snuggled further down into his cocoon of blankets, his ears perked up at the sound of a sweet, Southern voice.

"Hey there, sleepyhead."

His eyes popped open. "Rogue?" She was sitting in the bedside chair that had previously been occupied by Logan. She was smiling like an angel, and his sleep-heavy brain was having a hard time registering her presence.

He sat up in the bed. "What time 's it?"

She looked down at her watch. "Almost seven."

His brows furrowed. "In da mornin'?"

She chuckled, standing up. "Yeah, we came back early. Here, scoot over." He obliged, making room for her on the bed as she laid down next to him. "Logan called. Said you said not to, but we all decided it was worth comin' home after our last appointment instead of spendin' the night in Chicago. Been waitin' for ya ta wake up for hours. I think I kinked somethin' in my back sleepin' in that chair."

He frowned, looking down. "Y' didn't have t' do dat." He paused. "Tell Kitty 'm sorry."

She reached out, catching his chin with her finger and lifting his head to meet her gaze. "Kitty's fine, Remy, promise. It was her suggestion, actually. Now, how are you?"

Staring into her crystal green orbs, his resolve to be strong broke down. He wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her shoulder.

"I was… I was really scared, _Chérie._"

She held him close. "Oh, hey, sugah, it's gonna be okay. I talked to Hank, he said all yer tests came back negative… or positive, whichever one is the good one. You're fine." She rubbed his back soothingly. "Baby, yer shaking."

"I know."

He felt her turn her head to the side. "Hey, Pete," she called out, "why don't ya go get Dr. McCoy and the Professor so they can explain everythin' ta him."

"_Da_."

Remy hadn't even realized Piotr was still there. He remembered him being around the day before after his accident, and he now wondered how long the quiet Russian had stayed by his side. That was Pete for you, keeping out of the spotlight, but always waiting in the wings in case you needed him. They used to be closer, Remy and Pete, back when they were Acolytes and the only two sane people living in that abandoned warehouse. They'd grown apart since moving into Xavier's, seeing as they actually had very little in common, but despite that, Piotr was still loyal.

A moment later, Remy, his head still buried in his girlfriend's shoulder, heard the men enter the room.

"Ah, Remy, I see you are up," Hank announced jovially. "Any nightmares?"

He shook his head, holding Rogue tighter.

"Well, I must say that is excellent. Hopefully this will be the first of many peaceful nights of sleep. I have your test results here…" He paused, most likely waiting for Remy to look up. He didn't. "It appears that everything is in working order. Medically speaking, you are perfectly healthy."

"Which is why," the Professor interjected, "I did my own scan while you slept. I believe that my recent astral plane examinations of the work that Essex did on you has aggravated the area. I apologize for this, and in the future, we'll be more careful and monitor you closely after any psychic evaluations, if they become necessary."

"See, sugah," Rogue soothed, "everythin's fine. You can relax now, there's nothin' ta be scared about anymore."

"Okay, jus'…" he whispered, his arms still wrapped fervently around her, "jus' stay wit' me f' a little while."

While it was a relief to learn that what had happened the day before would be, most likely, an isolated incident, it did little to calm him down. He just needed a moment. It felt as if the stress of the past two weeks was finally coming down on him in one fell swoop. Having had to relieve his experiences in the clutches of a mad scientist had been hell. For a year, he had pushed those memories aside, blocking them out when came to the surface, telling himself that he was in control, that he could handle it. Apparently that could only work for so long. His demons had finally come back to haunt him, and at last, he was forced to deal with them.

Two days later, Remy trailed behind Rogue as Kurt led the way into the church, a myriad of worshipers making their way inside the building along side them. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He looked at Rogue. Yeah, she was hot, but she wasn't _that_ hot. He sighed as they stepped through the foyer. '_Just one hour, _homme_._' he told himself. '_You can do it. Just spend the time making up dirty limericks or something_.'

As they entered the chapel, he reached out unconsciously, dipping his fingers in the holy water and crossing himself. As the room opened up in front of him, something inside him snapped.

He didn't belong here. He didn't want to here, and they didn't want him, either. 'He' didn't want him. The whole redemption and salvation thing, it wasn't for him. He was screwed out of this life from the very beginning. He was _le Diable Blanc_.

"'m not doin' dis," he stated. Kurt and Rogue, both a step in front of him, turned to face him.

"Vhat do you mean?" Kurt asked.

"Dis is a joke, me walkin' in here. I'm not doin' dis."

"Remy," Rogue said, stepping closer, "ya _promised_--"

"And y' shouldn't have made me!" he snapped back. "Y' don' understand, Rogue. Dis is my choice. I'll go wait in the car."

He turned on his heels and left as quickly as possible, not giving either one them a chance to respond. As he reached the car in the parking lot, he leaned against it and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it as the sounds of the organ starting up filtered outside. As he took his first puff, he caught Kurt approaching in his peripheral vision.

He shook his head ruefully as the young man stopped next to him. _'Damn proselyting types.' _"Kurt, jus' go back inside." He flicked the ashes from his cigarette. "I'm fine out here, s' jus' go. Go sit wit' y' sister, she's da one y' wanted t' come wit' anyway."

"Actually," Kurt began, leaning next to him against the car, "vhen I asked Rogue, I vas hoping you vould come. Zhere's somezhing I've always wanted to talk vith you about, but… vell, ve're not exactly close, and sometimes… I think maybe you don't like me very much. I sort of get zhe impression zhat you think I'm obnoxious."

Remy chuckled. "You **are** obnoxious."

Kurt laughed. "Ja, vell, it _grows_ on most people." He paused. "I kind of hoped you vould figure out zhat zhe two of us actually have somezhing in common."

Remy looked up at that, as Kurt continued. "I know vhat it's like to go through life looking like zhe Devil. To have people look at you and think zhat you are _evil_. To **feel** evil." He paused, looking Remy straight in the eyes. "Ve are zhe only ones at zhe Mansion who can understand zhat."

Remy was floored. It had never occurred to him. He opened his mouth to say something, but came up empty.

"Vhen I vas little," Kurt began, "I caused a lot of trouble." He smiled mischievously. "Sort of like my prankster self now, but not so good-natured. I guess I just figured, 'zhis is who I am supposed to be'. It vas vhat people expected, _und _looking in zhe mirror, it vas vhat I expected as vell.

"One day, zhe Priest in our village came to talk to me. He told me zhat I vas focusing too much on _der Tueffel in mir_, zhe Devil in me. See, zhere is a little bit of zhe Devil inside the hearts of all of us, if ve let him be zhere. Zhat is true for everyone, and it is true for me. Even though I am different on zhe outside, on zhe inside, I am zhe same. He told me… he told me zhat I needed to focus on zhe 'God' in me. Because it vas zhere. _Und_ I found zhat, vhen I looked, he vas right."

Remy remained silent as Kurt turned to him fully. "I zhink maybe you need to look for zhe 'God' inside of you, Remy, because I don't zhink zhat you've looked for zhat in a very long time, if ever.

"You can keep being angry, if you vant. Angry at God, angry at yourself, but it's vasted energy. God does not hate you. He isn't punishing you… or me. I do not know vhy I was born vith a tail, or vhy you have your eyes, but zhat is not ours to understand. It is God's plan."

He paused, looking down. "Maybe zhis is completely off-base, like I said, I don't know you all zhat vell… I just know vhat it is like. I zhink I know vhere you are coming from." He glanced back at the church. "I better go back in. Rogue's probably going to kill me for leaving her in zhere all alone for so long." He looked back at Remy. "You coming?"

He shook his head, bringing his cigarette back up to his lips. "Nah."

Kurt nodded. He looked like he expected that answer. "Vell, if you change your mind…" He scuffed his shoes on the ground awkwardly before motioning towards the cigarette in Remy's hand. "You ought to quit, you know. Those things vill kill you."

Remy chuckled. "I'll make y' a deal: I'll quit dese t'ings cold turkey da day you start eatin' vegetables voluntarily."

Kurt smiled. "Hey, I might just do zhat."

Remy raised his eyebrow at him. Kurt chuckled. "Okay, maybe not." With that, he turned and headed back into the church.

As he watched the younger mutant enter the building, the heavy wooden doors closing behind him, he sighed, dropping his cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out with his toe. He opened the car door and sat himself down in the driver's seat, turning on the radio and reclining back. He had a long hour in front of him.

As the sun shined in through the windows, warming the air inside the car, he closed his eyes. Kurt said he should look for the 'God' in him. Well, that was just way too cheesy to even consider. But maybe, _maybe_, he could find the 'good' in himself. Hey, he'd had a crappy couple of months, he probably deserved a little mental pick-me-up.

As he contemplated, he shifted in the seat, making himself more comfortable. He brushed back the bangs that had fallen over his eyes. He figured he ought to get his hair trimmed soon, it was getting pretty long. But, then, Rogue had said that she liked his hair. That it was '_very attractive_'.

He smiled at the memory. There, that was something 'good' in him. He had good hair. Okay, so maybe it wasn't the sort of life-affirming revelation that Kurt had in mind. And no, acknowledging that he had good hair probably wasn't going to make him happy, but it was a start.

It was a start.

* * *

German Translations:

_Meine Augen -- _my eyes

_Ja_ -- yes

_Und _-- and

_der Tueffel in mir -- _if you didn't catch it, it was 'the Devil in me'

I apologize for Kurt's accent, hopefully it works, but honestly, I had a lot of trouble with the whole German thing. And quite frankly, I am just so SICK of all the accents. I wish I hadn't done them so heavy in the beginning, because now I have to keep it up, for continuity. However, in the **SEQUEL** that I have planned (which won't be for a while, I still have several chapters here lined up first), I may ease up on the accents. Can you do that, in a sequel, start brand new?

* * *

Just a note, for those who are curious: In **this** story, Essex/Sinister is not a villain, so to speak. There is no evil plotting to take over the world, no Marauders, none of that. He is just a crazy scientist with a chemistry set and no moral values. I would say this makes him AU here, except he wasn't in EVO, so I'm technically in the clear. Woot! I have a problem with him as an actual villain the X-men fight against, because to make him truly frightening, he has to be pretty powerful, which then makes his eventual defeat always seem so contrived and off-balance. I kind of like him as this really evil guy who's only motive in life is simply scientific curiosity. He'll be used more (in this vein) in the **SEQUEL** I'm planning out.

So, hey, did I mention that I have **SEQUEL **to this working its way through my brain? Yeah, well, I do. And I'm pretty excited about it. It will have… an actual plot! *GASP*

So, in researching for this chapter, I actually talked to Dr. Essex, and he said that he found a study that showed that leaving reviews for this particular piece of fanfiction actually increases the length of the reviewer's lifespan by THREE YEARS! Amazing, huh? I can prove it, too. Just leave me a review, and then wait 70 or so years, and you'll see, all your friends will be dropping a good few years before you. So, go ahead, review. It's good for you.


	18. The Women

**Disclaimer: In my life, there are few things that I can truly lay claim to. My love, my children, my happiness, my sorrow. My failures and successes are my own. What I cannot claim, what I do not own, is Marvel and their characters.**

Hello, lovers. It's been a while, I know. Yeah, see, I've been out… with someone else. That's right, an outside writing project. But hey, it's not like we said we were exclusive or anything. Oh, come on, baby… you knew what kind of a person I was when we started this thing. You know I still love you, boo. Don't be mad, show me that pretty smile.

*Wow. I thought that would be cute and funny, but now I just feel… dirty. Joke officially finished*

So, I'm back! I honestly missed you all, and I'm never volunteering to write something ever, ever again, because my stupid non-paying outside-writing project totally distracted me from my non-paying fan fiction-writing project, and that just ain't right! I don't get reviews for my other thing, which means I didn't have loyal and wonderful reviewers/readers waiting for me over there. Sorry guys, you totally got cheated. But I still totally heart you all, got the t-shirt and everything.

(Sidenote: I majorly heart my unregistered reviewers, too, and I'm sad that I can't send you all review replies! If you wanna send me a PM with your email address so I can respond, I would love that. I feel like I'm missing out on interacting with you guys, and some of you unregistered reviewers give AWESOME reviews that just cry out for a response.)

**Reviewer Quote of the Week: **

"World domination? Puh-lease! Gimme my beakers!" -- from _**starlight2twilight**_, on Essex. HA!

I have no one to devote this chapter to, so I'll just say that it's brought to you by the letter '**P**', and a fun little word that starts with it that I was surprised to realize I've never used in this story before now. Woot!

* * *

_**Chapter Eighteen: The Women**_

Remy chewed his bite slowly, letting the morsel of food saturate his palette. He took his time, allowing his tongue to caress the flavors, hitting each and every taste bud before finally swallowing, the lingering memory still fresh in his senses.

"Damn it, Remy, yer makin' me sick. Just **eat **it, would ya?"

He licked his lips. "I t'ink I taste cumin in dere."

Rogue glared at him. "Wow. Congratulations. I'll go alert the foreign press," she deadpanned.

For all intents and purposes, it was a fairly run-of-the-mill Friday morning. Almost the entire population of the mansion was in the kitchen, most sitting at the table, a few still quietly gathering together their plates for breakfast. School had started back up that week, and seeing as the younger students had yet to fall back on the routine of sleeping in late and finishing their homework last minute, the mood around the kitchen table was actually… calm. Pleasant.

"Rogue," he began slowly, wiping the corner of his lips with his napkin, "dis is a delicate procedure. Deconstructin' a dish takes skill. Y' gotta take y' time."

"Yeah, well," she scowled, "watchin' ya try ta dissolve last night's dinner in ya mouth is ruining my mornin'. If ya wanna know how ta make Massaman Curry, go look up the damn recipe!"

Remy gasped dramatically, clutching his hand to his chest. "Bite y' tongue, woman!" Across the table, Jubilee and Rhane started to giggle. He knew the younger girls in the Institute loved to watch the two of them bicker, like a real-life soap-opera. Remy, being one who loved an audience, was in the mood to indulge their fantasies. "Recipes are f' amateurs, _ma Chérie_."

"You used ta look up recipes all the time."

"I _used_ t' be an amateur," he countered.

She scowled as she dug into her bowl of Frosted Flakes. "Ya don't know the first thing about cookin' Thai food… it's ridiculous ta try guessin' the ingredients when ya got no base knowledge ta work off of." She turned and glared at Jean from across the table. "I blame **you **for this, by the way. That's the last time anybody cheats on their dinner cookin' duty by orderin' take-out with Daddy's deep pockets."

Jean merely shrugged. "The way I see it, I can use my allowance however I see fit."

"Hey, speaking of dinner duty," Bobby called out from the kitchen, "I need you to trade with me tonight, Remy."

Remy took a sip of his coffee. "_Desolé,_ _Robert_, but I cooked t'ree nights dis week on trades already, an' I'm up m'self tomorrow. Not interested."

The backdoor slammed shut as Sam trounced into the kitchen, a stack of envelopes in his hand. "Mail call!"

"Aw, come on, Gambit," Bobby whined as he sat down at the edge of the table with his bowl of cereal. "You have to trade with me!"

"Ya been chasin' down the mailman or somethin', Sam?" Rogue asked. "Who gets the mail at seven in the mornin'?"

"He's waiting for a letter from home," Scott interjected.

"I _have_ t', huh?" Remy questioned, his trademark smirk in place. "An' why's dat, exactly?"

"'Cuz Tabitha's paying me twenty bucks to trade with you."

"I am SO craving that authentic thin-crust Italian-style pizza you made last month," Tabby called out from the far end of the table. "Oh, you just _**have **_to trade with him! Please, Remy-kins? Please, please, please?"

"Well, did ya get what ya were waitin' for?" Rogue asked.

Sam scowled as he passed two envelopes across the table to Jubilee. "No."

"Well, like I said," Remy piped in, "I already traded chores t'ree time dis week. Only t'ing I got left t' do is changing' da X-van's oil. Y' know how t' do dat?"

Bobby's face fell. "No."

"His parents mailed a permission slip so he can register for Sex Ed," Scott explained. "He can't take the class until he gets it."

Rogue turned to Sam, smiling. "You in a big rush ta get _educated_ or somethin'?"

"Okay den, if y' got not'ing t' trade," Remy mused, "why don' y' jus' give me dat twenty bucks from Boom-boom, an' we call it even, _d'accord_?"

"I, uh… I need the money."

Remy chuckled. "Comic book?"

Bobby huffed. "_Graphic novel_," he corrected indignantly.

"**Stacey Turner**, Rogue," Sam announced as he walked around the table, dropping Kitty's Cosmo magazine in her lap. "You remember her, right? Hottest thing at Bayville High, an' she's in the class. And, it's Sex Ed. _Sex Ed_. I get a seat next ta her, start talkin' 'bout reproductive cycles, an' bam… I'm **in**. It's practically written in the stars. We're soul-mates."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Wow, that's quite the plan, Romeo."

"How 'bout dis," Remy offered. He slung an am around Rogue's shoulder. "M' girl here 's got bat'room cleanin' duty tomorrow. You take care o' dat f' her, keep y' money, an' I'll cook Tabby's meal tonight."

"Bathrooms?!" Bobby exclaimed. "That's way worse than dinner duty! And besides, you can't trade for other people."

"Why not?" Remy asked. "You need somethin' t' trade for, and I'm jus' lookin' out f' someone I love,--"

"Aw!" came the chorus from Kitty, Jubilee, Amara, Rhane, Tabby, and Jean. Storm smiled serenely from her corner of the table.

"--I don' see da problem in dat."

Rogue smiled. "Thanks, Swamp Rat."

"Professor?" Bobby whined, turning towards their mentor for help.

Xavier, sitting at the head of the table, lowered his coffee cup from his mouth. "Bobby, the way I see it, Remy is being more than fair. You are looking for a trade, and he has offered up a reasonable price for the exchange of his services. If anyone is being shorted in this deal, I would say it is Tabitha, and seeing as she has no objections, I find no problem with the transaction." He turned to Remy, his old eyes twinkling slightly as he suppressed a boyish grin. "Do you think you have time to stop by that Italian deli and pick up some prosciutto?"

Remy chuckled. "Yeah, I t'ink I can squeeze dat in. Dat is, if Bobby says we have a deal."

The room went quiet as all eyes turned towards the ice-producing mutant.

Bobby groaned. "_Fine_."

"Yay!" Tabitha's squeal of joy could be heard over the chorus of approval from around the room. "Get some prosciutto for me, too, 'kay Rem-Rems?"

"And some fresh basil, if you're out," Kitty added.

"Oh, and some of those crunchy little white things you put on mine last time," Rogue noted.

"Pine nuts?" Remy asked.

"Yeah."

"Ooh, pine nuts for me, too!" Jubilee called out.

"And pepperoni!"

"Mushrooms, please!"

"Peppers, peppers, peppers!"

"Whoa, hold on a second," Remy cut in, getting up from his chair and heading over to the kitchen counter. "Let me get some paper t' write all dis down."

Logan grunted from his place against the doorframe. "Anyone headin' to school better get their orders in soon, because I'm leavin' in the van in seven minutes." He nodded towards Remy. "Sausage for me, Gumbo."

The table erupted into a flurry of activity as the younger mutants hurried to finish their breakfast.

"Okay, I got…" Remy called out from the kitchen counter, looking down at his pen and paper, "pine nuts, basil, prosciutto f' two--"

"Three!"

"--three," he corrected. "Pepperoni, mushrooms, peppers, sausage… what else?"

"Hey, ya got a card, Rogue," Sam said suddenly, holding out a square envelope. "It ain't yer birthday, is it?"

Rogue took the envelope from him, her eyebrows scrunched in curiosity. "Not for months."

"Olives."

"Garlic!"

"Is it redundant to put tomato slices on top of a tomato-sauce based pizza?" Jean mused.

Remy suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Does it matter?'

Jean shrugged. "I guess not. Tomatoes, please."

Remy looked up from his paper. "Anyone know what Hank might want on 'is?" The blue doctor had been down in his lab working on a sensitive experiment since the night before.

Suddenly, at the table, Rogue's eyes widened as she beheld the card in her hand, its discarded envelope laying forgotten in her lap. "Oh… OH! Remy!" She stood up, bolting from her chair and racing across the room to his side. Everyone went quiet. She shoved the card into his hand. "Remy, this is for _you_."

Puzzled, he cautiously looked down at the card she had given him. It was simple, square and white. On the front was a picture of a tiny, naked baby, impossibly small and curled up in a cute little ball on a fuzzy pink blanket. A small tuft of blonde hair sat upon the baby's head, a tiny pink bow on the side. Slowly, he opened the card. On the inside, in swirly dark-pink lettering, was printed:

**Henri and Mercy LeBeau are pleased to Introduce**

_**Elle Remy LeBeau**_

_**Born 9/2/2009, 5lbs 12oz, 15 inches**_

Below that was a short, handwritten message.

_Three weeks early, but strong as an ox. Her grandfather couldn't be more pleased if he tried. This baby girl has turned every male in the guild into a big softy._

_I miss you._

_Love, Henri_

Remy stared at the card, his mind slowly interpreting the words. He looked up at Rogue.

"Dis is Henri's kid?" He glanced down at the card. "Mercy had da baby." Suddenly, a smile crept upon his features. He looked back up at Rogue. "Mercy had da baby!" he repeated, this time with more enthusiasm.

Rogue smiled. "Yeah, looks like it."

A low, throaty laugh poured out of him as he examined the picture on the front of the card, his excitement growing with each passing second. "_Merde_, Henri's a _père_, a real _père_… wit' a **daughter**, no less! Gonna be a looker, too, wit' dat face. Oh man, da trouble dat _homme_'s in for! I gotta call 'im, he always said--" In an instant, he stopped, his excitement cut off like a bucket of cold water had been poured over him.

He couldn't call Henri, he was exiled. Hell, the card hadn't even been sent to him, it had been sent to _Rogue_. Life at the LeBeau Mansion was moving on, and he was no longer a part of it.

He was no longer a part of the family.

"Damn," he whispered. He could feel everyone's eyes on him. He dropped the card, pressing his palms into the kitchen counter as a quiet fury began to build within him. Suddenly, he grabbed the closest object he could find, an empty juice glass, and flung it against the wall. "Damn!" A collective gasp was let out as the glass shattered into a million pieces. He stormed out to the patio without looking back, the backdoor slamming shut behind him.

He squinted in the bright morning sun as he paced about the patio, a soft breeze blowing against him. He ran his hands through his hair. Not even a moment passed before Rogue was behind him; he knew she'd come even before he heard the backdoor open.

"Remy…"

He whirled around to face her. "I'm out, _Chère_, I'm **out**!" he snapped. "_Mon frère _has a kid, an' I find out about it a _week later _in a damn card… sent t' **you**!"

"No, Remy," she pressed, putting a comforting hand on his arm. She looked up at him, straight in the eyes. "It was for you. Look at this." She held up the card, pointing towards the last line of Henri's note. '_I miss you._' "I'm not the one he misses. The envelope may have my name on it, but this card was meant for **you**."

He thought it over for a second, rubbing his hand down his face. She sort of had a point.

"And look at her name," she continued. "They named her after _you_."

He glanced at her. "Maybe Mercy jus' liked it."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Come _on_. It doesn't even sound good with 'Elle'. They used it because it's a **family **name. It's _your _name."

Remy ponder this. After a moment, he sighed. "Yeah?"

She smiled, taking his hand lightly. "Yeah."

He let the tension relax out of his body as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him, up against his chest. He smiled as she responded, melting into him and snaking her arms around his waist. "Y' too good t' me, girl, y' know dat?"

She chuckled as she laid her head against him. "Yeah, well, I figured I owed it to ya ta help straighten out that head of yours, seein' as ya got me outta my bathroom cleanin' duty."

He chuckled as he leaned down, placing a kiss on the top of her head. After a moment, he relaxed his hold on her. "Alright," he said, "let's see dat picture again."

He took the card from her, examining the small infant on the front. While she did have a sort of Henri-esque appearance about her -- maybe it was the nose -- there was no mistaking that this was Mercy's child. That was probably a good thing. Remy's sister-in-law was a 9 on a bad day, and while his brother had his charms, he would never wish his façade upon any young girl, and certainly not one he was related to. Of course, that might just be the younger sibling in him talking. Henri had, after all, bagged Mercy.

Mercy LeBeau, as she now went by, was one of the strangest women that Remy had ever met, if only for the fact that she was the first woman he had ever encountered that was young enough not to be his mother that he didn't have a sexual relationship with. It was odd, or at least it had been, at first. When Henri was dating her, Remy had given her very little thought, if any. She was a _femme_, and his brother's at that. She was a challenge he could help with, and someone he knew he could probably bang if he wanted to, given different circumstances. Nothing more. It wasn't until after the wedding when she moved into the LeBeau Mansion that Remy realized he had absolutely no idea how to have an actual relationship with a woman that didn't involve his penis.

Those first few weeks of living under the same roof as her were sort of hell. Though he had known her for over a year and had had a good few coherent conversations with her, he suddenly found he was unable to string together more than one or two words in her presence. He simply didn't know how to act around her, who to be. But what was perhaps the most disturbing was the realization of how much of a stranger she really was to him. He knew her as a _woman_; he had to if he was to be of any help to Henri in winning her heart. He knew what turned her on, what sparked her interest, what got her blood running hot. But as a _person_… as a person, she was a complete mystery.

What he found, when he got to know her, was that Mercy was opinionated, fiery. Stubborn, almost to a fault, and strong-willed. But mostly, above all else, she was the most caring and warm-hearted person he had ever met, save, perhaps, for Henri. She was fiercely protective of the ones she loved, and 'the ones she loved' included almost anyone she met.

Even though he shouldn't have been, he was surprised when he realized that he had, over time, become a part of Mercy's 'beloved' group. In fact, her loyalty to him could rival even his brother's. Remy had been a bit worried before the wedding that he might lose the closeness he had with Henri, if his brother would transfer his protectiveness over solely to his new wife. The reality was, in the marriage, Remy had not lost a brother, but in fact gained a sister, a second guardian. Mercy was as shielding and unconditionally-loving as Henri was, if not a little less oblivious to her brother-in-law's obvious faults.

Over the four years since she had joined the family, Mercy had grown to be one of Remy's most cherished people. He still didn't know exactly what kind of relationship he was supposed to have with her, and they weren't exactly friends, but that didn't matter. She had woven her way into his heart, and he was grateful that she was a part of his life.

Her warm-hearted nature had won her the admiration of the rest of the Guild as well. Being one of only a few females of high-ranking status, and one of only two women who resided in the Guild's headquarters, she easily held the hearts of the men around her, especially Jean-Luc. While the Guild-master was generally a hardened ass, it was well-known that he had a soft spot when it came to women. It was just the old fashioned gentlemen in him. He worshiped the ground that the fairer-sex walked on, and his beautiful daughter-in-law was no exception. Mercy had that man wrapped around her dainty little finger, and Remy had a feeling that the same was going to be true with young Elle.

The next day, as he stood amongst a sea of creamy pink and baby blue taffeta, Remy couldn't help but ask himself out loud:

"Why da **hell **did I agree t' dis, anyway?"

"Because," Rogue answered, as she stepped out from one of the aisles in the upscale baby boutique they were shopping in, "you wanted ta buy yer niece a present, and that requires ya ta actually _enter _a baby store. How about this?"

He raised his eyebrow as he examined the tiny box in her hand. "It's a box. So… no." He deadpanned. "Now, explain t' me again why de _Chaton _had t' come too?"

Kitty bounded past them in a whirlwind of excitement. "Oh my gosh, this stuff is, like, SO cute!"

"_Because_," Rogue explained, "goin' ta the **mall**, not ta mention a _baby store_, without inviting Kitty would result in some sort of extreme act of violence. Trust me, she's little, but she's scrappy. And it's not just a _box_, it's a memory box. It's ta put the first tooth she loses in."

Remy scrunched his eyebrows. "She's a baby. She doesn't have any teeth."

"Yeah, but she will."

"So I'll buy her a box den." Rogue scowled as she placed the box back on the shelf. "So, why exactly," he continued, "did dose two 'ave t' tag along?"

Rogue glanced over to where Jubilee and Amara were fawning over something in Kitty's hands. She shrugged. "It's sort of a package deal."

Remy gave a longsuffering sigh. "I t'ink dis is da fifth circle of hell. I really do."

Rogue chuckled as Kitty skipped back to them, her girly entourage following behind her. "So, not that I actually approve of your family's 'line of business', because I so totally do **not**… but, it's totally fun that you guys are, well…" She lowered her voice, "_what you are_, because that means you're all totally loaded, which means your brother is totally loaded, which means they can afford all the boring but completely necessary baby stuff like diapers and wipes and bottles, which means…" At this point, her eyes were so wide with excitement, Remy was seriously concerned they might pop out of their sockets, "we get to buy them something pointless and unnecessary and so totally CUTE!" She did a little hop as she thrust a tiny pair of pink sneakers into his hands. "Look at these shoes, aren't they to die for?!"

At this point, Remy was wondering exactly how the small brunette achieved such high marks in school. The girl just used the word 'totally' **five** times in one sentence. "_Chaton_, da baby doesn't need shoes. She can't even walk."

Kitty squealed. "Thus the whole 'pointless and unnecessary' statement!"

Remy groaned as he handed back the shoes. "Seriously, _petite_, y' killin' me. Why couldn't y' have at least made Pete come along, given me a little reinforcement?"

Kitty stiffened as the excitement instantly drained from her face. "Because we broke up, remember?"

Remy paled, and Rogue elbowed him in the side for his insensitive slip. "Oh. Right."

Their breakup had always seemed inevitable to him. Kitty seemed like the kind of girl who needed some drama in a relationship, and when it came to women, Piotr was just so non-confrontational he barely functioned. Actually, Remy was surprised they hadn't split earlier, once Kitty realized the whole 'I'm dating a former bad-guy' thrill didn't really apply since everyone at the Institute loved Pete and would gladly name their first-born child after him. He was really just that nice. Remy supposed the relationship had lasted as long as it had merely on the fact that Piotr was such good company, Kitty actually liked having a boyfriend, and the guy was just so damn _big_. But despite it's obvious inevitability, Kitty was actually taking the whole thing pretty hard.

She frowned, crossing her arms in front of her. "But gee, like, _thanks_ for bringing that up. Hey, weren't you, like, abandoned as a baby? Let's talk about that now."

He cringed. Okay, maybe he deserved that one, just a little bit. "'m sorry, _Chaton_, really. I jus' forgot."

She looked away, her blue eyes filling with tears. "Whatever."

Jubilee reached forward, placing her hand on Kitty's arm. "Hey, let's go look at those tutu's over there. They're totally adorable." As she and Amara led the petite girl away, he was left alone with a glaring Rogue.

"Now _that_ was stupid." She remarked. She leaned in dangerously. "Whatever she picks out, yer buyin' it. I'm not dealin' with her keepin' me up 'til three in the mornin' sobbin'-- _again _-- because you can't keep yer damn mouth shut."

He swallowed as she stomped away. Technically, he'd gotten off pretty easy. If his Tante Mattie had witnessed him making a _fille _cry, his backside would be unusable for a week.

Mattie Baptiste (or Tante Mattie, as half the Guild was required to call her) was the only woman Remy knew whose memory could simultaneously fill him with both affection and terror, and of all the women he had ever known, she was still the biggest mystery.

Though she insisted on being called 'Auntie', Tante Mattie, if you got real technical, was actually just the Guild headquarters' housekeeper. Well, housekeeper slash cook. Slash nanny. Slash healer. Slash disciplinarian. Slash Voodoo Mystic who was rumored to be well over five centuries old.

That was perhaps the part that always fascinated and somewhat terrified Remy, the fact that the old black woman who cooked his breakfast and paddled him senseless when necessary may actually be, in a sense, immortal. It was something that all the Guild Elder's knew and no one was allowed to talk about. The story was, Mattie Baptiste had pledged her loyalty to the Thieves, for whatever reason, centuries ago and had vowed to use her powers and potions to protect the Guild, and prolong the life of the Guild's leader. Normally, Remy was not one to put much credence in myths and legends, as this story seemed to be, but he had seen the proof. There were old photographs of previous Guild-masters (Jean-Luc's father and grandfather) with Tante Mattie standing faithfully at their side, looking exactly the same as she did to the day. Her age, and the time-warped photos he had seen of her and his father looking only slightly younger than he did now, had him wondering just exactly how old Jean-Luc really was as well.

It was odd, living with someone who seemed to be timeless, and she was a strange _femme_, in that respect. Caring, but not intimate. Involved, and somehow outside of everything, like she was watching from afar. He always felt as if she could see his entire life, start to finish, and knew that was all that it was… a spot on a timeline, a single chapter in a long series of events that she was privy to. He found her cold, though he shouldn't have, and always craved just a little more from her. He didn't want to be just a passing amusement in a long journey through time.

Perhaps, after all, he had really just wanted her to act as a mother. It was something that he had never had, and though he didn't enjoy admitting it to himself, it was something he craved more than anything. It was the one thing that he would forever envy his brother for, and just the thought of Jean-Luc's deceased wife, a woman he had never known, and the time Henri had had with her sent bitter waves throughout his being.

Aveline LeBeau, in Remy's opinion, was an angel. Perhaps that was because of the fact that by the time he was adopted into the family, she had been a resident in Heaven for a good seven years. Or perhaps it was the way in which Jean-Luc worshiped her very name. When she had been alive, as the older Guild members liked to tell, theirs had been a love unlike any other. In his younger years (which, given his possibly elongated life, could be a good chunk of time), Jean-Luc had been quite the catch. Many women, enticed by his power and wealth and good looks, had literally thrown themselves at his feet, but no one caught his heart… until Aveline. Tall, blonde, beautiful with an almost cherubic grace… as the story went. She was quiet, and loving, and would float about the mansion as if walking on a cloud. The moment Jean-Luc laid eyes on her, he was a changed man. She had his heart in an instant, and would forever hold it in her soft, gentle hands.

And when she died, they said, she took it with her.

Jean-Luc would have protected her from anything, but some things… some things, even love cannot conquer. The cancer that took her came fast and unexpected. He fought it with every resource at his disposal, but in only six months time, she was gone. And he was left alone, with only a hole where his heart had been and a grieving child. Since her death, not once had Jean-Luc ever entertained another woman, much less even looked at one in that way. He would be faithful to his wife until his dying day, when they could be reunited, and his heart would be whole again.

Since the day that he entered the LeBeau Mansion, Remy had been enchanted by the story of Aveline. Perhaps it was the colorful way the old Thieves wove the tale, or the fact the Henri never talked about her, just smiled when asked and said "She was mom". Jean-Luc's bedroom was practically a shrine to his deceased beloved, with pictures and mementos littering almost every wall and surface. When his father was out, Remy would sneak into the room, sit on the floor quietly, and just stare at the black and white photos of a woman he would never know, captivated by her angelic face. There was a blanket on a chair by the bed that still smelled faintly of her perfume. He would wrap himself in it, closing his eyes and imagining what it would have been like if she hadn't died, if he had been adopted sooner, if she had been his.

It was a childish fantasy, he knew.

As he grew older, he stopped allowing himself to frequent the room. It was a silly obsession, and a pointless endeavor at that. No matter how much he dreamed or fantasized, it would never bring her back. And besides, who was to say that she was all that wonderful, anyway? After all, stories and fairytales aside, she was just a woman. No matter how great a wife and mother she may have been, she would have had faults. She was human, not the heavenly creature he had created in his mind.

However, as much as he tried to forget about Aveline, in his later years, Remy still found himself compelled by her memory. When he was tense, or upset, he indulged himself in his old childhood pastime, sneaking into Jean-Luc's room for one little glance, one touch of his finger to her picture frame, one smell of that blanket.

She had been the last LeBeau woman to grace the house until Mercy came along. And now there was Elle.

Later that evening, Rogue and Remy sat alone on the floor in his room packaging up Elle's presents to be sent to New Orleans. In the end, he purchased a Swarovski Crystal embellished pacifier, a pink onsie that proclaimed "If You Think I'm Cute, You Should See My UNCLE", and a hot pink tutu, because, despite the resistance he pretended to put up for Kitty, it actually was pretty cute. Lastly, he enclosed a small framed photo of himself. That one really stretched the limits on Rogue and Henri's formula for working around the rules of Exile, but he didn't care. He wanted to make sure that his niece knew who he was.

"Well," Rogue proclaimed as she closed up the box, "ya certainly filled that 'pointless and unnecessary' requirement Kitty set."

Remy scoffed. "What y' talkin' 'bout, girl? Dat little outfit was more dan necessary."

"Right," Rogue mused, "because yer just _so_ modest on yer own, ya need the baby to speak up for yer attractiveness."

He shrugged. "Someone's gotta do it."

"Uh huh. And how are ya justifying that pacifier?"

"A girl's gotta have some bling." He smiled, leaning forward and tapping her lightly on the nose. "Y' oughta know dat one, _Chérie_."

She smirked. "And ya just had to pick out the one with a skull and crossbones on it, didn't ya?"

"It's still pink, ain't it?"

Rogue leaned back against the side of his bed, crossing her arms as she smiled. "I think I'm getting the picture here. Yer gonna be one of _those_ uncles. Buying her cell phones, taking her ta get a tattoo or her bellybutton pierced, sneakin' her inta Rated R movies when she's nine…"

"Hey," he said, stretching out beside her and laying his head in her lap, "I didn't have one o' dose _oncles_, and look how horribly I turned out. Dat shit needs t' be supervised."

"Hmmm," she smiled as she began running her fingers through his hair, "That's a good point."

They were quiet for a few moments, enjoying the solitude together. After a minute, Rogue spoke up.

"You _will_ be there, ya know" she stated. "You'll be back there, ta do all those things with her."

He closed his eyes. "Y' don' know dat."

"Yes, I do."

He scoffed. "No, y' don't."

"Yes, I do."

"No, y' don't."

"I do."

"Y' don't."

"I **do**."

He sighed, opening his eyes and looking up at her. "I'm exiled, _Chère_."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, really? Gosh, if only I had known _that_…" She stilled her hand, looking down into his eyes. "Just trust me on this, okay? I have a feeling. Everythin' is gonna work out in the end."

He smirked. "Y' have a _feelin_'?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "Call it Woman's Intuition."

He laughed lightly. "Oh, well den, if it's a _woman _feelin'…" he trailed off, sobering slightly. "Y' really t'ink so?"

She resumed running her fingers through his hair. "Yeah, I do."

He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her long, slender fingers on his head. "Okay, _Chère_. I trust y'."

They stayed there, enjoying the stillness, the calm, the peace, as the night grew dark outside. In his head danced the images of little girls in tutus, their blonde hair bouncing and swaying as they danced around the living room in his father's house, the adults huddled on the sidelines, laughing, knowing that everything, in the end, was going to be alright.

* * *

_Note: Mercy and Tante Mattie are __**very**__ loosely based on the comics, molded in my own interpretation for this story. Aveline is from me, but I know I got the name from someone's fanfic, I just can't remember where. If it's you, I loved the name you picked! Elle is completely fictional and not at all based on the Reese Witherspoon character (although, that would be funny…)_

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So, I think by now it's been clearly established that I'm sort of an unrepentant review-whore (and by 'sort of', I mean 'can 100% accurately be described as'). Now, I would never withhold an update as ransom for more reviews, and certainly never threaten to do so. However, it must be said that reviews are encouraging, obviously, and large numbers of reviews inspire me to write faster. That being said, I have to tell you guys, next chapter… next chapter, you are going to **LOVE**. Seriously, the stuff I have planned… *dissolves into a fit of giggles*. Let's just say, it's good. Some of you are going to go absolutely cuckoo bananas. **Irual**, you're gonna wanna get your cute butt back here for it, believe me. **Starlight2twilight**, you're gonna love it, although I hardly feel the need to encourage you to read because you're _always _here, my lovey! And the rest of you, well, trust me, there's a whole lot of you who are going to be very excited about what happens in the next chapter. *giggle-fest, once again* Oh man, I'm so excited to write it…

But, again, if you want it to come faster, review, eh? Those lovely reviews just make my fingers **fly**…


	19. all things

**_***I apologize to those who have read this chapter already. I am reposting in an attempt to get the alert emails to be sent out, because apparently they haven't been. Again, I apologize for reposting, but I want to make sure all my loyal readers are alerted to the new chapter. Hopefully this will work!!**_**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Marvel and its characters, Rogue and Gambit would get a lot more screen time, and there'd be kissing. Lots and lots of kissing.**

I wanted this to be out sooner, I really did. But my kids got sick with the flu, and were just horribly horribly sick for an entire week, and trust me when I tell you that taking care of them took every spare second away from me. Yep, I'm an awesome mom. Then, of course, because they are 1 and 4 and I've taught them to share, I got the flu myself! Yup, still getting over it now, but even while I suffer, I'm bringing you a brand spankin' new chapter! I do it all for you, my loves.

**Reviewer Quote of the Week**: from **Remy LeBeau **himself! WOW! (*ahem* courtesy of **LaceyLou76**):

_Chere, dis chapter was tres magnifique. I can' wait to see what you have planned for mon Chere an' I in de next chapter. Lacey, here wants a little kissy action between moi an' Roguey, mais if y' can', den 'M hopin' for at least a happy chappie. Hey, dat rhymes. Hehe Au Revoir, mon chere, until next time, non! _-- How can I say 'no' to that face?

This chapter is dedicated to **starlight2twilight** and our amazing dog **Tim**. Sorry, Tim, that you didn't get to make a real appearance in this story. You just weren't right for the part.

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_**Chapter Nineteen: all things**_

Remy LeBeau was getting a dog.

For real.

An honest to goodness dog. Today.

He sat in the passenger seat of the X-van anxiously drumming his fingerings on the tops of his knees as Rogue drove them to the county animal shelter. He would have driven the van himself, but he was just too excited. As they drove, Rogue continued to give him the occasional sideways glance, chuckling good-naturedly to herself. He didn't even care that the whole thing was making him look like an overmedicated 10-year-old girl.

He was getting a dog.

That's right, he did it. He passed his GED. His GE-freakin'-D. And he did it the right way, too. Finished his prep packet, studied like hell, and actually took that practice test… twice. It all felt extremely childish and tedious, but Rogue had made it bearable by reminding him of all the seemingly childish and tedious steps he had had to take in order to reach the level of Master Thief. That was all this was, she explained. Just another task, another challenge to be mastered.

And in the end, all those childish and tedious steps proved effective. Not only did he pass, but he actually did… fairly well. Sure, he might not have exactly aced the thing, but his scores were decent. Xavier called it a 'B plus average', which apparently was impressive for someone who had no formal schooling and didn't learn to read until he was twelve years old. The Professor took his GED diploma and framed it up nice, displaying it carefully on his nightstand for Remy to find.

Everyone insisted on throwing him a party the night before, which, of course, had humiliated him to no end. He didn't get why everyone was making such a big deal about something they were all expected to do themselves, and in a more timely and conventional manner. He was twenty years old. He passed a _test_. It didn't exactly seem streamers-and-cake worthy to him. He spent most of the evening slouched in the oversized corner chair with Rogue in the rec room trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, which was surprisingly easy considering it was supposed to be _his_ party. It seemed that most of the younger students were enjoying staying up late dancing and eating on a school night too much to take notice of them. At a quarter 'till eleven, Logan sauntered over to them, holding a Coke bottle in his hand and giving Rogue a pointed nod. She got up at the motion, turning to Remy for a moment.

"I'll be back in a sec, Sugah," she cooed as she slyly made her way out of the room.

As Remy watched his love retreat from his side, Logan stepped up fully, leaning against the wall next to him as he handed Remy the bottle.

He sniffed. "No t'anks, _mon ami_. Don't drink Coke."

Logan folded his arms across his chest as he watched the younger students partying in front of them. "It ain't Coke, Gumbo."

Remy looked down at the bottle in his hand, twisting off the unsealed cap and taking a quick sniff of the contents inside. Yup, definitely not Coke. He brought the bottle to his lips, tipping it back for a hefty swig, reveling in the comforting sting as the alcohol traveled down his throat. "_Merci_, Logan," he said when he came up for air, sparing a sideways glance at the older mutant standing beside his chair. "Don't t'ink I can stand another minute o' dis kiddy party shit sober."

Logan chuckled lightly. "Yeah, I know what ya mean…" He cleared his throat. "It's important, though. For the kids." Remy looked up at him questioningly as Logan continued. "I know ya like doin' things solo, but we're a team here. Some of these kids, they look up ta you. Hell if I know why…" Remy rolled his eyes, "… but they do. They wanna support ya, and it's important that you let them, for _their_ sake. Even if it don't mean much ta you, it means a lot ta them, lettin' them do this for you."

Remy nodded, sipping his drink thoughtfully. He paused. "That's mighty insightful o' you, Wolvie."

He grunted. "Yeah, well, it's the same speech Xavier gave me when the damn kids wanted to throw me a birthday party, of all the damn things."

As Remy laughed at that, the music suddenly died down and the chatter in the room quieted. He looked up to see Jamie walking towards him with a box in his hand as Rogue trailed behind him, a small smile playing at her lips. All eyes in the room watched as the young boy approached him in his chair.

"Mr. Remy," young Jamie announced, a huge grin plastered across his face, "we all thought it was really neat what you did, _achieving your goals_, and… um…" The boy's face scrunched up as tried obviously to remember the rest of his clearly memorized speech. Watching him fumble, Rogue stepped forward, whispering quickly in his ear. "… oh, and _persevering through challenges_ to, um… get your GED." He smiled, thrusting the box forward into Remy's hands. "So we all chipped in and got you this."

Remy took the box awkwardly, the half-empty 'Coke' bottle still in one hand. He looked up at the room full of anxious eyes watching him with excited anticipation. He examined the box carefully, deliberately stretching out the moment.

"Wow…" he remarked slyly, a smirk slowly forming on his lips. He looked up. "Dis is very kind o' all o' y'. Very kind indeed. _Merci_ t' y' all." He glanced over at Kitty, who looked like she might burst. Jean, sitting in Scott's lap across the room, was biting her bottom lip as she waited for him to open the present. Oh, this was just too much fun. He looked down at the box again. "An' such nice packaging, too. A box _and _a bow. Can I jus' say, in all m' years, I never saw a bow as pretty as dis one. An' dis Cajun 'as seen his fair share o' bows, believe me. Dat's right, dat's a mighty fine bow, if I do say so myself--"

"Damn it, Swamp Rat!" Rogue exclaimed as she rolled her eyes. "Stop being an ass an' just **open **it!"

He chuckled, finally placing his bottle down on the floor by his feet, and lifted the box's lid.

Looking inside, he folded back the layers of tissue paper slowly, and after a moment, he finally revealed the present laying at the bottom of the box. He reached in, pulling it out and bringing it up to his face.

As he held it up, he couldn't control his reaction as he beheld the item in his hand. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly as he fully comprehended what he was holding. It was collar, thick brown leather with a small silver tag that already had the Institute's address and phone number engraved on one side. He looked up at Rogue. She was smiling broadly, as was everyone else in the room. Jean, Kitty, Piotr, Storm, Bobby, Kurt, the Professor, and all the rest were practically beaming, obviously pleased with his reaction. Hell, even Scott couldn't hold back a small smile. Remy brought his eyes back to the collar in his hand, unable to stop the boyish grin that spread across his lips.

He was getting a dog.

***

Remy looked down the impossibly long aisle, taking in the double-stacked rows of kennels that lined each side as his ears were assaulted with the sounds of the animals within. '_Damn_', he thought, '_that's a lot of dogs_.' As he let his mind slowly take in the sight before him, Rogue stood behind him with Daisy, the animal shelter supervisor whose cheerful name was an unfortunate contrast to her stout and somewhat frumpy demeanor, which was only accentuated by her plainly cut dirty-blond hair and brown, boxy government uniform. He stepped forward, kneeling down to look inside the first kennel as Rogue took care of business behind him.

"And who will be the primary caretaker of the dog?" Daisy asked, the clipboard in her hands resting easily on her protruding belly.

"That would be Remy," Rogue answered, nodding in his direction, "but I'll be helping as well. We also live at a school with four adults… well, seven, technically, and over a dozen teenaged students, so there are plenty of helpers. No matter what, the dog will be well taken care of."

Daisy nodded as she made a note on her form. "Very good."

Remy peered in at the dog in front of him. It was cute, he supposed. Small. If Kitty was there, he was sure she would talk him into the idea of taking on the tiny lapdog, which was precisely why the petite brunette had **not** been invited. That girl could be very persuasive, and the last thing Remy wanted was to be brainwashed into thinking that he needed a 'purse puppy'. He shook his head, standing up fully and moving on to the next kennel. That was definitely not the dog for him.

"Now," Daisy continued, "it's important that dogs have plenty of space to roam, even small dogs. Are you sure you have enough room for a pet?"

Rogue nodded. "Oh yeah. We live on one of the mansion properties up on Greymalkin."

"Oh!" Daisy nodded in agreement, looking down and marking a check on her form. "Then you certainly have plenty of room." She chuckled. "In fact, with that kind of acreage, you could take on a whole _pack_ of dogs."

At that, Remy ears perked up. He turned around expectantly to Rogue, who cut him off before he could even open his mouth. "Remy, no! The Professor said you could get a 'dog'… singular."

He pouted. "But--"

"**One **dog, Remy."

He frowned, turning away from her to look in at an overweight Dachshund in the next cage. It waddled around its kennel, its belly hanging down sloppily as it stepped in a pile of its own poop. Ew. He wrinkled his nose before moving on.

As they slowly moved down the row of kennels, Daisy continued with her interview. "Now, how decided are you on what kind of dog you'd like to adopt?"

Rogue glanced at Remy, who for the most part was ignoring the conversation as he examined the potential pets, before answering for him. "Well… not very. Right, Rems?"

"Mmmm," he answered with disinterest as he stared at a small brown puppy that was jumping up and down repeatedly in its cage, excited at his presence. It reminded him of Jamie, hyped up on Pixie sticks. Or Kitty at the mall. Nope, not the dog for him.

"Well, that's actually a good thing," Daisy announced. "People who come in with their minds made up about a kind of dog they think is 'cute', or on some dog they saw on television, a lot of times end up picking an animal that, in reality, isn't really suited to them. I find the best pet-matching occurs when you come in open-minded. It's really about just finding an animal you can connect with. However, we _can_ narrow down your candidates a bit. Do you think you might want a young dog, like a puppy, or an older dog?" At Rogue's undecided expression, Daisy continued. "Most people come in looking for a puppy, because, let's face it, they're cute. A lot of people also like the idea of being the animal's first and only owner." Remy scoffed, continuing his examination of the kennels. Those both sounded like stupid reasons for picking a dog, in his opinion. "However," Daisy continued, "the benefit to adopting an adult dog is that their temperament is generally milder, and usually an older dog is already housetrained."

Remy turned around instantly, catching Rogue's eyes. "Older dog," they both decided in unison.

Daisy smiled. "Excellent. We keep our adult dogs down here…" She led the way toward the end of the aisle.

As Rogue and Daisy stopped to continue their conversation, Remy moved along the aisle, observing the animals in front of him as the two women's voices melted into the background. There was a large number of dogs to choose from, but none of them seemed… right. He made his way down the row of kennels. Too small. Too much hair. Too skittish. Too smelly. One by one, he checked off the number of potential pets. None of these dogs seemed like the right dog for him.

Reaching the end of the aisle, he crouched down, peering into the last cage. As he settled his weight on the balls of his feet, he looked in. There, in that moment, his red-on-black eyes connected with a pair of deep brown orbs. He stopped. The dog in front of him stayed still, its eyes still locked in his gaze. They stayed that way for a moment, and almost, for just a second, Remy could swear he saw just a… twinkle… in the dog's eyes. He smiled.

"Dis one," he said softly. He turned his head toward Rogue, raising his voice so she could hear him. "Dis one, _Chère_. I want dis one."

Rogue cocked her head to the side before making her way over to him, Daisy trailing slowly behind her. When she reached his side, bending at the waist to look in the cage, Rogue's jaw dropped. "Um, Remy…" she started shakily. "Are ya… are sure ya want _that _one?"

Remy craned his neck to look up at her. "What's wrong wit' him?"

"Nothin', I guess, he's just…" she scratched her head, "… well, _look _at him."

Daisy reached them, smiling at Remy's selection. "You like him, do you? I have to say, I'm very pleased. He's an exceptionally sweet dog, one of my favorites, actually. He's also **very **well trained. But unfortunately, he hasn't had any potential adoption candidates because… well, for _obvious_ reasons," she said, motioning towards the animal in the cage. "In fact, he's been here so long, he's scheduled to be euthanized next week. It just breaks my heart…" she trailed off, looking down at her clipboard for a moment, pondering, before lifting her head, her expression decided. "How about this: If you decide to adopt him today, I'll update his vaccinations for free."

"Deal," Remy stated instantly, still staring into those deep brown eyes. "We'll take him."

***

When they arrived back at the institute a few hours later, a small crowd was gathered outside, awaiting their arrival. Rogue had called home from the road, alerting them to their imminent return, but kept all details about the dog a surprise. The younger students had arrived home from school 20 minutes earlier, just in time to meet Remy's new pet, and the adult members of the Institute seemed just as curious. As they pulled up to the garage, Remy couldn't help but smirk from behind the wheel, glancing back at the animal sitting quietly on the bench seat behind him. Coming to a stop in front of the waiting crowd, he put the car in park as Rogue opened the passenger-side door, stepping out in front of their teammates.

"Well, did you get one?!" Kitty asked excitedly.

"_Oui_," Remy answered coolly as he disembarked from the other side of the vehicle.

"So where is it?" Bobby called out from the back of the crowd.

Rogue looked over to Remy, who nodded to her as he made his way around the front of the van towards her.

"Everyone," she began, reaching over and opening the back passenger door with a dramatic swing, "… meet David."

As the dog jumped out of the van, stopping between Rogue and Remy and sitting obediently at their feet, a collective gasp was emitted from the throng.

A moment of silence hung in the air before Scott spoke up.

"Professor," he began, not moving his eyes from the dog in front of him to look at his mentor (who himself was sitting uncharacteristically slack-jawed in his chair), "I thought you said Gambit could get a 'dog'…" he swallowed, before deadpanning, "… not a **horse**."

David LeBeau, as his official county animal license now read, was a five year old, 180 pound, brindle-colored Great Dane. And from what Remy had seen so far, Daisy was right: he was a **very** well trained dog. His previous owner had been an elderly gentleman who adopted him as puppy after his wife had passed away. The dog had been the man's only companion for five years on a small retired farm on the outskirts of the county until he too had reached the end of his life a few months previous. Having spent his entire life around a fragile, elderly man, David was extremely gentle, despite his enormous size, and almost unnervingly loyal. He and Remy had made some sort of connection at the shelter, and instantly the dog was glued to his side.

He was perfect.

Well, almost perfect.

The only problem was… his name. David. It was so odd, and completely un-doglike. Remy couldn't for the life of him imagine why anyone would name their animal that. But, he supposed, it was just something he was going to have to learn to live with.

"It's yer dog now," Rogue pointed out she walked around the kitchen, trying to find the best place for the dog's food and water dishes, "you can name him whatever ya want. How about… Rocky? He looks like a Rocky."

"He's not a puppy, _Chère_, he's a full grown dog," Remy countered as he sat at the kitchen table. The dog was sitting quietly at his side, resting his head on Remy's lap as he scratched him behind his ears. "I can't jus' go 'round changin' his name. It's who he is. It's his identity. He's David."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "He's a dog, Remy. He doesn't care what ya call him as long as ya keep his food dish full."

He scowled lightly at her. "Dat's not true. How would y' like it if I jus' woke up one mornin' and decided, '_Hey, I don't like da name Rogue. I t'ink 'm gonna rename m' girlfriend_', and started callin y'… Taryn, or somet'in'?"

"Well," she huffed, finally placing the dishes in the corner by the backdoor, "if ya called me Taryn, I'd rip yer tongue out and shove it down yer throat, cuz that's the name of that bitch from high school that Scott used to date," she frowned "… for some reason."

Remy sat up straighter in his chair. "See, dat's what 'm talkin' about. What if 'Rocky' was da name of some dog dat used t' beat up poor David over here? Or, even worse, what if ya decided t' name 'im… " he waved his hand in a vague gesture, "I don' know… Hugh, but Hugh was da name of his boyfriend he left back at da shelter, an' now every time y' callin' 'im in f' supper, y' just stabbing a knife inta his broken heart?"

Rogue walked over to the table, sitting down in the seat on the dog's other side. "First of all, yer whole metaphor is stupid, because he's a _dog. _But say we ignore that, you said 'boyfriend'. David is a **male **dog."

He stared at her straight-faced. "Rogue, da dog is clearly gay."

She gaped. "What?!"

"I said he's gay. Da dog is gay."

She stared at him in disbelief for a moment before shaking herself out of it. "Did ya just say what I think ya just said? Remy, dogs can't be gay, and even if they could, what the hell makes ya think yer dog is gay?"

"His name is David, _Chère_. **David**. Not Dave, or Davey. David." He looked at her as if that was argument enough. Getting no response, he continued. "Besides, I saw him sniffin' some dog's butt back at da shelter."

She scoffed. "Remy, all dogs do that."

"Yeah, all gay dogs."

She glared at him. "Swamp Rat, the dog is not gay."

"Y' know, y' reactin' t' dis whole t'ing really negatively, _Chère_." He raised his eyebrows at her. "I t'ink y' got a problem wit' homosexuals."

Rogue's jaw dropped in self-righteous outrage. "I do not have a problem with homosexuals!"

"Clearly y' do." He shrugged his shoulders, turning his attention to the dog at his side, scratching his ears with both hands now. "Don' see what da big deal is myself. Sex is sex, right? Don't matter who y' love…" He looked up, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully. "Had a gay friend once, in the Guild a few years back… Clay something. Nice guy, hell of a wingman. Not s' great at t'ievin. Kid seemed t' have a lot of potential, dats why we brought him t' da N'Orleans headquarters, but his trainin' wasn't pannin' out like we all t'ought, so we had him transferred out t' Boston, or Chicago -- somewhere, I don't know…." He looked back down at his dog. "Great guy, t'ough. Horrible dresser, ironically."

Rogue sat motionless, staring at him in disbelief. "That's not true, none of that's true, you just made that up."

Remy chuckled. "I did not. Y' can go call Henri if y' want. Ask him about de 'fairy' I ran wit' for a few months back when I was sixteen. Guarantee he'll remember; he had a hell of a time teasin' me 'bout it back in da day." He glanced up at Rogue, a sly smirk on his lips. "_Homme's_ not nearly as open-minded as Remy."

She crossed her arms indignantly. "The dog is not gay."

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Whatever, Rogue, but da sooner ya come t' grips wit' reality, da better. F' everyone." He leaned forward, taking the dog's face in his hands. "Don' worry, David. Ya _mere_'s having a hard time acceptin' who y' are, but she still loves y'."

"He's not gay!"

He ignored her, standing up as David followed his lead. "Come on, boy, I'll take ya down to da dog park. Maybe we can sniff y' out a nice stud."

***

That night, Remy laid in his bed, the covers pulled up around him as David curled himself into a ball down by his feet. He felt awkward. He wasn't really sure how one was supposed to sleep with a dog on the bed. Did the dog need a blanket? Should he offer him a pillow? Normally, Remy slept in the nude, but that seemed somewhat…_inappropriate _now. He settled on a pair of light-weight pajama pants, figuring it was probably okay to be bare-chested. Maybe. Unsure of himself, he pulled the comforter up further, covering his torso completely. Just in case. He sighed, feeling completely silly as he fidgeted around in his darkened bedroom worrying about nudity around a _dog_. Sitting up slightly, he stole a glance at David. The dog lay contentedly at the foot of the bed, an almost bored expression on his long face as his brown eyes flickered up to meet Remy's red-on-black for a brief moment before they fluttered closed, a soft, canine snort escaping his nose as he settled in for the night, probably in the same manner he had every night for five years with his previous owner. Remy smiled, laying back against his pillow. It was somewhat comforting, that gentle dip in the mattress by his feet where David's weight pushed it down. He closed his eyes, settling into the covers as he listened to the soft, even breath sounds of his new companion.

"G'night, David."

***

The next morning, Remy was roused grudgingly from his slumber by a gentle nudging at his side. Reluctantly, he crack one eye open. It was still dark in the room, definitely too early to be getting up. Wondering only vaguely what had pulled him from his slumber, he closed his eyes, settling back down into his covers. However, no sooner had he begun to fall back asleep than the nudging began again, this time with a little more force.

Now suddenly more awake, he turned to the side to find a set of big brown eyes staring up at him. It was David. The dog had scooted up the bed to his side, now whimpering happily at his conscious master. Remy groaned, turning on his other side to grab the clock on his bedside table. It was 5am. On the nose. He set the clock back down, turning back to raise an eyebrow at his dog. Why the hell did the dog wake him at **exactly **5am? In a sleepy haze, a thought started to form. David's previous owner had been a retired farmer. He was probably used to getting up before the sun, and trained the dog to be his alarm clock. Remy groaned again at the realization. This was definitely a trick he was going to have to deprogram from David's repertoire.

He flopped back down against his pillows, reaching out blindly to pat the dog on the head. "Good boy, David," he mumbled, closing his eyes. "Now go back to sleep."

A few moments passed, and Remy was beginning to think he would be getting back to that pleasant dream he'd been having when suddenly he was jolted back to reality by the feeling of something thick and slimy running over his cheek.

"Gah!" he exclaimed, waking up more fully as he spastically tried to sit up. David was perched by his head, his watery tongue hanging out of his mouth. Remy stared at the dog in disbelief. "Did y' jus' _lick_ me?" David stared blankly back at him as Remy examined the dog's face in a groggy haze. "Where's da snooze button?" he asked absent-mindedly.

David continued to offer him a blank expression, cocking his furry head to the side.

Remy groaned, running a hand over his face before turning back to the dog, looking him straight in the eyes. "Look, David, Remy ain't no farmer. He don' need t' get up so early. Bad dog. Bad dog!"

If David was at all impressed with Remy's attempt at dominance, he didn't show it. Waging his tail, he leaned forward, sticking his tongue out and licking the side of Remy's face once more with an ungraceful '_shlop_'.

"Ugh!" Remy cried out, pushing the dog away from him as he scrambled off the bed. "Fine!" he exclaimed, "You win. 'm up!"

David panted happily in returned. He stood up, jumping off the bed in one great bound and landing with a dramatic '_thump_' on the bedroom floor. Remy cursed under breath as he searched around the room for his running shoes. He might as well take the dog out for a jog, since apparently he was not allowed to fall back asleep. He groaned inwardly. At least Xavier would be happy about this. Now there was absolutely no chance he would be late for his appointment later that morning.

The Professor had scheduled an interview for him with an admissions advisor up at the Culinary Institute of America's New York campus. That was the culinary school he had decided on, mostly because it wasn't just a 'culinary school', but a real college. Sure, it meant a more difficult admissions process, and more work when he got in, but it was _real_. Rogue would be attending New York University. She was going to be a 'college student'. He wanted to be a 'college student', too. They'd be 'college students' together. He wouldn't lose her. Plus, there was the added bonus of being able to earn an actual academic degree at the CIA. 'Bachelor of Professional Studies (B.P.S.) Degree in Culinary Arts Management.' He liked the sound of that, and could imagine it printed in bold, calligraphy lettering on a nice, crisp diploma. It seemed so… normal. He could just imagine the look on his brother's face if he did something so work-a-day, Average Joe. He liked that look.

But before any of that could happen, of course, he had to actually get into the school.

The two hour car ride up to the Hyde Park campus was awkward and drawn-out, and only served to give Remy time to get good and nervous about this whole interview thing. He drove as Professor Xavier, who insisted on accompanying him, did his best to reassure the young man that there was nothing to be apprehensive about. Just a little talk, he insisted. Just getting the ball rolling, that was all. The thing was, Remy _hadn't_ been nervous, not until the drive up. He hadn't had time to be nervous, hell, he only received notice that he'd passed his GED three days earlier. But seeing as the January semester was starting in only three months, Xavier informed him that he needed to get the application process started right away. It was a whole lot happening in a short period of time, and Remy, quite frankly, was having a hard time keeping up.

When they _finally_ arrived (he was grateful that, should he get in, he wouldn't have to do that drive daily. Forge was working on a device that would allow Kurt to teleport further distances to a set location, and they were planning on using that method to commute him up to Hype Park and back each day, as well Rogue, Jean, and Scott to NYU), the butterflies in his stomach were churning at full speed. He had never had to interview for a job before, his thieving skills had always spoken for themselves. This was an entirely different matter.

As they walked through the campus towards the administrative offices, the Professor placed a calming hand on his arm. "You'll do just fine, Remy. Just be honest and be yourself. No matter what this admissions advisor says, we're all very proud of what you're trying to accomplish."

Remy groaned inwardly, adjusting his sunglasses to make sure his demonic eyes were fully covered. He really wished Logan could have come with him instead. If this lady took one look at him and laughed her head off, Logan wouldn't make a big deal about it. He'd brush the whole thing off before taking him to a bar to get nice and drunk. He had a feeling that, should he leave with one big rejection, Xavier had a whole two-hour drive's worth of 'comforting words' and 'encouraging wisdom'.

As it turned out, Ashley Lee, the admissions advisor, didn't _look _quite as intimidating as Remy had imagined her. She was a tiny woman, with cute, short brown hair and a sprightly little nose. If anything, she looked like a welcoming little chipmunk, which to Remy made her seem even more terrifying. With her pleasant demeanor, one would hardly expect anything negative to come out of her pink, pouty lips, which was why he was certain it would be even more shocking when she proclaimed him a pathetic loser and ordered him the hell out of her office.

"Alrighty," she began from behind the small mahogany desk in her cramped office. Remy and the Professor sat huddled next to one another in front of her. "as I'm sure you're aware, it's a bit later than we recommend students starting the admissions process, but not too late, of course. With my help, I'm sure we can get everything in order for you on time. So, let's see what we've got here." She looked down at the papers in her hands, shuffling between his GED test results and the application form he had filled out. "Your test scores are good, so that's a point for you." She looked up, smiling. Remy felt his stomach drop. "Now, I see you have listed as your place of residence the 'Xavier Institute for Gifted Children'." She turned her attention towards the Professor. "Can I assume that you are Professor Xavier?"

As the Professor smiled back warmly, Remy was grateful to have the attention off of him, for even a short while. "Yes, I am," Xavier answered. "Mr. LeBeau here has been living with us at the Institute for over a year now, and we all have been very impressed with his hard-work and diligence, not to mention his natural culinary skills. I think he would be a fine addition to your school."

Ms. Lee smiled, nodded as she looked back down at the papers in her hands. "Now, um…" She faltered for a moment, which put Remy's nerves on high alert. "Do you go by any other names, or just Remy?"

He shifted awkwardly in his chair. What kind of a question was that? "Uh…"

"Nicknames?" she offered. "Or, um… codenames?"

Codenames? He glanced over at the Professor, somewhat relieved to find that he too seemed confused. "I'm not sure I understand the importance of 'nicknames' in Remy's admissions application." Xavier noted.

She smiled nervously. "Oh, it's nothing. We just like to get to know our applicants better." She looked back down at the paper. "How about special skills. Any… unusual talents?"

Unconsciously, Remy's hand flew up to his sunglasses, ensuring that they were in place. Something fishy was going on here. Thankfully, Xavier picked up on his uneasiness and answered the question for him.

"Remy is a very talented card player, and is also highly trained in _Savate_ fighting."

Ms. Lee's eyebrows raised, as did Remy's heart rate. "Interesting… anything _else_?"

She knew something.

The Professor leaned forward in his chair. "Perhaps you'd like to ask the real question on your mind."

Remy sat frozen in his chair as she sighed. "You're right, I'm sorry." She looked up, straight at him. "Are you a mutant?"

Remy kept his expression a stony poker face, but before Xavier could speak up in protest, she continued.

"Wow, okay, that came out all wrong. Let me start again." She smiled, turning towards the Professor. "My niece is one of your students. Well, adopted-niece. Jubilation Lee?"

Xavier relaxed in his chair, as did Remy. "Ah, yes, Jubilee. I should have made the connection with your last name, although 'Lee' is very common. I must apologize, your niece never mentioned having an aunt that worked here."

Ms. Lee laughed. "She also never mentioned to me having someone at her school who was a budding chef. Well, that's Jubilee for you. Sometimes that girl can be so spacey." She turned to Remy. "Now, I'm guessing by the glasses that you're the boy who shoots lasers out of his eyes."

Remy held back a shudder at the unintentional insult. He removed his sunglasses in a dramatic sweep. "_Non_, I'm da one wit' da demon-eyes."

She looked him over, surprisingly unfazed by his unusual orbs as she pondered thoughtfully. Suddenly, a look of realization spread across her features. She snapped her fingers, pointing at him. "Hot boy who makes the good pizza!"

Xavier chuckled as Remy suppressed the urge to slink down in his seat in humiliation. This might just be worse than an outright rejection.

After a few minutes of exchanging pleasantries and stories about her obviously beloved niece, Ms. Lee brought the conversation back to business.

"Now, as I said before, your test results are good. Not stellar enough to separate you from the pack, but certainly high enough to meet our academic standards. With the Professor here writing your letter of recommendation, I think you're definitely a worthy candidate for admissions. However, we've had an unusually high number of applicants this enrollment season, and therefore, admissions is a bit more competitive than usual. We need to make you stand out to the admissions board… which is where I come in." She smiled warmly, leaning forward. "I need a fabulous story to sell to them. So, tell me your story."

Remy blanched. This lady, practically a stranger, was asking for his history, his life, and she expected him to just hand that information over? Oh, hell no. Nuh-uh. No way. No damn school was worth this.

Suddenly, the Professor's voice was in his head.

'_Remy, this is an exercise in trust_.' Wordlessly, Remy looked over at Xavier, who continued inside his head. '_She is not here to harm you, she's here to _help_ you. Opening yourself up will not guarantee pain. If you really want to do this, to move on to the next chapter in your life, you have to be willing to let people in. You have to be willing to trust. Do this, Remy. Do this for yourself_.'

He sighed. Xavier was right, somewhat. Yeah, it was still scary as hell, but normal people didn't keep all aspects of their personal history locked up behind a steel vault. This was something he wanted to do. Cooking was something he loved, and only because **he** loved it. Not because Jean-Luc had trained him to, or some other outside force had manipulated him to, just him. He wanted to do this, for himself. For Rogue. So they could have a life together that, no matter what else happened, had at least _some_ sense of normality to it.

He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, and began.

He told her everything. Well, not **everything** everything, and not in graphic detail, but in whatever minimalist form, he told her his life. The streets, the guild, his father. Magneto, the Assassins, Sinister. He told her about Rogue. He told her about falling for her, loving her, wanting to be a better man for her. Hell, he even told her about David. Maybe that part wasn't so important, but the dog had been on his mind. He wondered if he was doing okay while he was out and whether he still remembered where the doggy door was that they'd installed for him.

He was being open, damn it.

When he finished, Ms. Lee was beaming at him from across the desk, dotting her eyes with a tissue to catch a few stray tears. "Now that," she said, "is a story I can sell. The boys on the admissions board are going to eat that up." She looked to the Professor. "As long as you fax me that letter of recommendation as soon as possible…" she turned back to Remy, "I think you're a shoo-in."

Something warm began to grown in his chest, and he didn't have the heart to crush it down.

Ms. Lee stood up, reaching across the table to shake his hand. "I'll keep in touch. Now, I recommend you start cooking the meals at Institute exclusively five days a week. That should take care of the 60-hour Experience requirement before the semester starts. Professor," she turned, shaking the older gentleman's hand as well, "you take good care of my niece."

The two-hour drive back to Bayville was significantly more pleasant than the trip up. Xavier turned on the radio, letting the sounds of Bach and Mozart fill the silence as Remy watched the road, a small smile playing on his lips.

Life, right now, was looking pretty damn good.

***

"David, NO," Rogue pressed as she wrapped her arms around the dog, trying to hold him back, which was nearly impossible seeing as he weighed a good sixty pounds more than she did. "When Remy's… cookin'…" her voice was strained as she fought against the large animal, "ya gotta… give him space…" She sighed. "Ok… how about… a treat?"

Instantly, the dog stopped fighting her. She reached into her pocket, sitting down in her chair before offering David a small dog treat, which he snapped up eagerly, laying down by her feet at the kitchen table and gnawing away happily.

From his spot in front of the stove on the other side of the kitchen, Remy chuckled. "See, _Chère_, I knew y' could wear 'im down," he teased as he tossed a cup of minced garlic into the bubbling skillet in front of him.

"Very funny, wiseass." She glared at his back as she continued to catch her breath. "Maybe next time I'll let him stay glued ta yer side like he wants, and we can see how long it takes for ya ta lose a finger."

Dinner preparations had come to a halt earlier that evening when the humungous dog had inadvertently bumped Remy's leg while he was dicing the tomatoes for that night's Chicken Cacciatore, and he ended up slicing into his hand deeply enough to require a quick stitch from Hank. It was quickly decided that David needed to be trained to stay back by the table while Remy was cooking. Seeing as the dog had already committed himself to sticking by his master's heal, it was quite the challenge.

His treat now finished, David lifted his head up, looking toward Remy mournfully as he emitted a small whimper. Rogue reached forward, patting the dog's head. "I know, boy, but ya gotta stay back. Yer Daddy's a big-time Chef now, ya gotta respect that."

Remy tried to hide the smile her comment produced as he stirred in the onions. "'m not a '_Chef_', Roguey."

"Oh, sorry," she grinned, "I meant 'amazingly sexy culinary student'."

He laughed. "I'll take da 'amazingly sexy' part, but I haven't even been accepted t' da school yet."

"The Professor said that the admissions advisor used the words 'shoo-in'," she pointed out.

He shrugged. "It's a sayin'."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Why are ya only modest about stupid stuff? Yer amazing, an' y' know it."

He tried to laugh off her compliment as he watched the onions begin to caramelize. "'Amazingly sexy', y' mean."

"That, too."

The door to the kitchen opened, interrupting their conversation as Jamie stepped in. "Hey, Mr. Remy, can I play with your dog?"

Remy turned to him, chuckling. "How exactly are y' gonna play wit' him? He ain't an Xbox, y' know."

Jamie crossed his arms indignantly. "I _know_. I thought we'd just run around the mansion or something."

Remy raised an eyebrow as he continued to stir. "An' dat sounds like fun?"

Jamie shrugged. "Sure."

Remy laughed, shaking his head at the kid. "Well, whatever floats y' boat. Go on, take 'im. At least it'll keep 'im from knockin' inta me."

"Here," Rogue said as she tossed the young boy the baggie of dog treats that had been in her pocket. "You can use those ta lure him away with ya."

Jamie took one out of the bag and waved it around in front of him. "Here David, here boy!"

Instantly the dog's ears perked up and he was on his feet, chasing Jamie out of the kitchen in pursuit of the treat. The sounds of the two of them thumping away down the hallway could still be heard as the kitchen door closed behind them.

No longer responsible for the dog, Rogue lifted herself off the chair, sauntering over to Remy's side. Coming up behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him close.

"Mmmm," he smiled, leaning back into her, "now dis I like."

She kissed him on the back of his shoulder before laying her cheek against him. "I'm just so proud o' you, Remy." He placed his free hand on her arm as she squeezed him tighter, running her hands along his abdomen. "I really mean it."

He closed his eyes briefly, trying not to get lost in the feel of her closeness, her hands against his body. "Here," he said, tugging on her arm lightly. "Come ova' here an' help me wit' dis."

She disconnected her arms, circling around to the front of him. "Alright," she teased, "teach me, oh great one. Dazzle me with all yer culinary knowledge."

He wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her back against him. Yeah, he was _definitely_ liking this position better. "Now, _Chère_, dis last step is pretty tricky…" he leaned in close, his lips mere millimeters from her ear as he dropped his tone, "…so ya gonna wanna pay close attention."

He heard her breath catch before she chuckled lightly, trying to act unfazed.

He handed her a pair on tongs, still whispering seductively in her ear. "Now, first, ya wanna put dose pieces of chicken back in da skillet." He pulled her in closer as she did so, and he couldn't help but notice the way she pressed against his groin lightly with her cute little ass. He held her closer still.

She was a little breathless when she spoke again. "And then?"

He opened up his empathy ever so slightly, feeling out her emotions. "Then y' let it simmer f' forty minutes, an' y' done." Excitement, nervousness, determination… lust?

"That wasn't tricky at all."

His own excitement was heating up. "Nah," he answered, closing the distance and kissing her ear lightly, "was jus' teasin' y'."

She didn't absorb him. She was holding back. Realizing this, he sent out calming empathic waves, helping her control as he continued to work her ear, running his tongue along the side of it. Her breath was getting quicker as she leaned into him. He could feel his heart rate increase.

"Remy?" she asked breathlessly. He moved down to her neck, kissing and sucking along the slender length of it. "How closely does this dish need to be watched?"

"Not very," he answered quickly before resuming his ministrations.

"Oh, thank heavens."

Instantly, she turned in his arms and captured his lips with her own. The heat between them exploded as they attacked each other in flurry of lips and tongues and hands. As their passion rose, he grabbed her by the waist, turning them around and pressing her back into the opposite counter. Things were getting very hot, very fast. She hooked one leg up around his hip, practically climbing on top of him. He answered her unspoken request, grabbing her ass and lifting her up to sit on the countertop. Automatically, her legs wrapped around him, pulling their bodies close as she ground her hips into his.

Things were happening too fast for his mind to keep up. In a euphoric haze, he felt her lift his shirt off of him, their lips separating for a moment as she pulled it over his head. Without hesitation, they were back on one another, his lips on her neck, her mouth, and her hands were now on his skin, lighting it on fire. Without thinking, his hands were on the hem of her shirt, pulling it up. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, he should respect her boundaries, but the thing was, she wasn't stopping him. In fact, she was arching her back to make his job easier. Somewhere in his brain, a part of him was telling him to stop, or slow down, but the greater part couldn't remember why he should. Her lips were all over him, and his arousal was growing as she pressed into him. He moved his hands to her hips to stop her, but once he reached those glorious curves, he found himself pulling her closer instead as the heat rose between them.

As she began sucking on his neck, that small part of his brain tried to get him to speak as his hands continued to glide across her body. "_Chère_…" he panted. "It's getting… I mean… I'm having… a hard…. time… controlling--"

She cut him off, a finger on his lips. She looked him straight in the eye.

"So don't."

That look in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks, her swollen lips, and now a verbal grant of permission… it was a lost cause.

They attacked each other once more, a hunger, a yearning burning between them. He kissed her deeper, tangling a hand in her hair as she tightened her legs around him. He couldn't help but emit something of cross between a moan and a whimper as she casually popped open the button of his jeans. He reached around her back, fingering the clasp to her bra when--

"Hey Gumbo, yer dog is--"

Instantly, he disconnected from her, turning towards the door where Logan stood, stick straight and stony, his face a quiet mix of controlled discontent and shock. Rogue let out a small squeak as she leaned in to hide her partial nudity, and Remy instinctually moved to block her from Logan's view.

For a full minute, no one spoke, the air thick with a tense silence. Finally, Remy was able to slow his breathing down enough to talk.

"You said somet'in' about m' dog?"

Logan worked the muscles in his jaw for a moment before speaking, his voice low and dangerous, but purposefully controlled. "He's hoggin' the couch in the rec room." He remained completely motionless, and Remy couldn't help but keep an eye on those knuckles that so far had yet to produce claws. Logan took a long, deep breath before speaking again. "Rogue, put your shirt on."

Mumbling something incoherent, she hopped off the counter and reached down to retrieve her shirt, putting it on in record speed.

She folded her arms in front of her, looking down as her cheeks burned bright red. "I'm gonna, um, go check on the dog." She scurried away from Remy, who had yet to move since Logan entered the room.

As she shuffled past him, Logan crossed his arms. "You go do that, Stripes. I need ta talk to your boyfriend here."

She stopped instantly at that. "Logan--"

He rolled his eyes. "I said 'talk', not 'disembowel'. Now 'git."

Normally, Remy didn't think Rogue would take too kindly to being ordered around, and especially not in such a dismissive fashion, but circumstances as they were, she exited the room as told, stopping only to shoot him a sympathetic glance.

Once the door closed behind her, the room was draped in silence once again. Remy eyed Logan carefully. The man seemed to be working hard to form his words.

Finally, Logan spoke. He fixed Remy with a hard gaze. "I suggest," he began, "that you think good and hard about whether or not you're ready for what you two were about to do."

Remy's jaw dropped. Okay, that was _not _what he was expecting to hear. He fumbled as he tried to respond. "Okay, I, uh… what?"

"First off," Logan groaned, "put yer shirt on, and stop thinkin' about what you were thinkin' about. The smells comin' off'a you are distracting." He glared at him. "And not in _that _way, so no smartass remarks."

As Remy reached down to grab his displaced garment, he couldn't help but feel like he was in the Twilight Zone. "_Desolè_," he began as pulled the shirt over his head, "but ain't y' supposed t' be threatenin' t' gut me and tellin' me t' keep m' hands off y' daughter?"

Logan looked at him seriously. "Rogue ain't my daughter, and she can make her own decisions. More than anyone, she understands the importance of touch and what it can mean. She ain't gonna rush into anything she's not prepared for. If she feels she's ready, she is. I might not particularly like it, but I trust her." He softened a bit. "Now Kitty, she's the one I gotta worry about."

"And me, apparently."

"Yeah." Logan got serious again, stepping forward. "I'm not sure you know what you're getting into."

Remy suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Y' do know dat I've had sex before." It seemed extremely odd for him to have to point that fact out, seeing as, before Rogue, he had a well-known reputation for being a slut.

"Yeah, you've had _sex_ before. But you don't know shit about makin' love." Never in his life did Remy think he would hear the words 'making love' come out of **Wolverine's **mouth. He thought about making a quip, but the look on Logan's face told him it would be a bad idea. He kept his mouth shut and let Logan continue. "Believe me, as someone who's done plenty of both, those are two completely different things. If you decided to be intimate with someone you love and go into it the same way you do with a random bang from the bar, more than likely you're gonna come out of it feeling hurt and confused."

Remy wasn't sure why, but Logan's words had him feeling defensive. He scowled. "Y' don' know what da hell we were gonna do."

"Like hell I don't." He tapped his nose lightly. "Your scents don't lie. You two were headed down a road, and I don't think you're ready for that."

Remy glared at him. "Y' don' know shit."

"Don't I?" He cocked his head to the side. "I know you plenty, kid. I know yer type. I know what sex is to you, deep down. But that ain't what it is to Rogue, and it ain't what yer gonna want it to be when it's with her. You're not ready."

He didn't know why, but he hated what Logan was saying. It squeezed at his insides and made it hard to breath. It made his heart hurt and his head swim and he just wanted him to shut up.

"Y' don't know me," he spat out, his eyes burning, "Y' don' know a damn t'ing."

Logan shook his head ruefully. "You know what, kid? I ain't gonna fight with you about this. I was just trying to look out for you. But you don't want my help? Fine. I was just givin' you some advice, take it or leave it. Just don't come cryin' ta me when you bang her in some dark corner and afterwards you feel like shit."

With that, he left the kitchen, leaving Remy alone with the simmering pots and pans and a whole lot of silence to think about what he'd said.

And he did think about it.

Maybe he didn't like what Logan had said about him, or maybe it he just didn't like hearing it from him, or maybe it was both. Or maybe it was just a little bit true, and that was the part that stung. The people on Kitty's idiotic TV shows always talked about sex as 'taking it to the next level'. He didn't understand that really, and perhaps that was the problem. Maybe it was _supposed_ to be a level. He didn't know, and that was sort of the problem. What he did know was that he didn't want to feel like shit after having sex with Rogue. Not her. Not now. Not when everything was going so well, with her and all the other aspects of his life. He was getting his shit together, finally. Probably wasn't a good time to start screwing things up.

He had a little talk with her later that night. It was embarrassing, having to tell her that he didn't think he was ready to sleep with her yet. Okay, he didn't use those words exactly. Something about 'timing'… he couldn't remember. The whole thing was just a little too humiliating for his taste. But she took it well, more than well, actually. Apparently girls like it when you're sensitive and think things through. Go figure.

He fell asleep that night alone, in his own bed. Except, he wasn't alone. He had David at his feet, and Rogue down the hall, and a whole mansion of people who embarrassed him and threw him parties and bought him a dog collar. He had a snapshot of his GED in an envelope for Rogue to send to New Orleans. He had a past and future, and all things opening up for him.

But most importantly, of course, he was Remy LeBeau… and he had a dog.

* * *

Given that I'm still suffering from the flu and getting about an hour and a half of sleep per night due to manic coughing fits, I'm just not in much of a 'pleading' mood. If you could take pity on my poor, broken-down immune system and leave me a few of those lovely reviews without the song and dance, I'd really appreciate it. Even though, normally, I do love to sing and dance.

* * *

_Title Note: To my fellow X-Philes, yes, this is in reference to the Gillian Anderson-penned episode, in all its pretentious, lower-cased glory._


	20. The End

**Disclaimer: Not it!**

Surprised to see me? This is quick, no? Well, I thought I'd send you all a little holiday treat, seeing as it is Christmas in three days (the fact that the timing of this chapter just so happens to work around the holiday? Totally coincidental. I wish I was that cool). Now, don't get too excited… this is an Interlude. A _real _interlude. As in, it's sort of a jump out of the story, and it's _**short**_. Very short. Just a quick little shot, if you will.

And, seeing as this is just a flash in the pan interlude, review replies and Reviewer Quote of the Week from Chapter 19 will be at the beginning of Chapter 21. Speaking of Chapter 19... **NOTE ABOUT CHAPTER 19**! I hope everyone who wanted to read it has read it. This "wonderful" site didn't send out alerts until… Monday, I think? And then, weirdly, I think it sent out like 6 alerts. That's what I got, at least. Odd. I was expecting maybe two, seeing as I reposted it once, but six was just random. So, if you didn't read a new chapter that was posted on Friday (or reposted Saturday), you missed 19! You don't want to miss 19!! GO read 19!!!

And now for our main attraction. Please note that while this chapter is titled "The End", it is in fact just an interlude, and the story is still in progress. No freaking out now, okay?

* * *

_**Chapter Twenty: The End (An Interlude)**_

**_._**

_Seven Years in the Future_

.

.

.

He wasn't ready for this.

He'd had nine months to prepare, and years before that, but he wasn't ready.

As he looked down at the tiny baby laying in the crib in front of him in the stark, quiet med lab, he knew with a certainty that he'd never been so afraid in his entire life.

He wasn't ready for this.

"Remy," Hank said calmly as he came up behind him, "I'm going to examine him now. Would you like to watch?"

He peeled his eyes from the infant in front of him to regard the blue doctor. Unable to form a cohesive thought, he merely nodded. He watched carefully as Hank reached into the crib, gently lifting his son and setting him on the nearby exam table.

_His son_. Those two words, once so common, felt foreign when placed together in his mind. _His_ son.

This entire time, he'd been so focused on doing this for Rogue, who was laying in a bed in one of the small, adjacent patient rooms. Not that he didn't want children, he did, but even more than that he wanted to give her everything she desired. That was the focus. _Rogue_ wanted children. _Rogue_ was pregnant. _Rogue_ was carrying twins. He'd been there for her, comforting her, supporting her, bringing her the foods she craved.

He'd completely forgotten that he was a part of this, a big part, and the reality of that fact was swallowing him whole.

He watched silently as the doctor performed his exam, measuring and weighing, making notes in his chart. The baby squirmed and occasionally let out a tiny whimper of protest as he was poked and prodded, but for the most part, he remained calm.

Hank gave him a sideways glance as he tested the infant's reflexes. "Have you two decided on a name?"

He nodded slightly, his eyes never leaving his child on the table. "Olivier." He cleared his throat, which was rough from disuse. "His name is Olivier."

Hank smiled. "That's a very nice name. I also enjoy the subtle reference to your past, and a literary one at that. Very smart." Remy looked up at the doctor wordlessly, his eyebrow raised in confusion. "Olivier, as in 'Oliver Twist'," Hank explained. "I heard a rumor that you used to run with a man named Fagan, as well." He chuckled, resuming the baby's examination. "Very clever, very clever indeed…"

Remy closed his eyes briefly as he groaned internally. He hadn't caught that before. "Rogue picked da name…" he murmured.

Hank nodded. "I should have guessed. She is a very clever girl, and well-read." He glanced up, noting the discomfort on the young man's face. "She's also very proud of her husband. I'm not surprised she would want to pay tribute to his past."

He shook his head. "Not exactly da kind o' past y' wanna remember."

"Ah, but how can you truly appreciate how far you have come unless you acknowledge the place where you began? The end of a journey means nothing if it were not for the beginning." Hank smiled warmly, turning his attention back down to the infant on the table. "If Rogue was in charge of naming your son, can I assume that you were given the task of naming your daughter?"

His daughter. Those words were foreign, too. He tried to think about the second infant still laying in the next room in her mother's arms, but it was too overwhelming. Just the child in front of him was more than he could really handle at the moment.

He nodded in response to Hank's question. "She's Aveline. After _mon frère's _mother."

"Another name from the past." Hank smiled knowingly. "It seems both mother and father think alike in that manner."

He watched as Hank, ever so gently, lifted the baby's eyelid open, revealing a dark orb, black sclera with red iris.

His heart sank to the floor.

"_Merde_," he whispered, turning away from the table. He bit his lip as a flood of emotion overpowered him. He covered his face with his hand as tears started to form in his eyes.

He wasn't ready for this.

"Remy," Hank began calmly, "It's alright. His eyes are fine."

"They're not _fine_!" he choked out with a small sob. He closed his eyes, willing his breathing to even out as he tried to keep it together.

"Rogue thinks they are."

He turned around, searching the doctor's face. Hank continued. "He opened his eyes for a moment when you were out of the room informing everyone that the babies had been born. She was ecstatic… said he had his father's eyes."

He shook his head. "Y' don' understand… from da very beginnin', he's different."

"He's special."

He closed his eyes. 'Special'. That was a pretty way of putting it. It was a pretty little lie. But he knew the truth, he had _lived _the truth. He didn't want that life for his child.

"Remy." Hank reached out, placing a large, furry hand on his shoulder. "He has parents who love him and are happy with who he is. He's living amongst those who can understand him, those who are his own kind. And he's living in a different world than you were born into. Not a perfect world, albeit, but a better one all the same." He paused, willing the young man to hear his words. "Your son will be fine."

He sniffed. "An' Aveline?"

Hank turned back to the infant on the table. "Green, like her mother's."

He dropped down into a nearby chair, leaning forward and holding his head in his hands as he took a few deep, cleansing breaths. He had to get himself together. He'd been doing so well for so long. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had an emotional breakdown. "_Desolé_," he muttered. "I don' know why I'm reactin' like dis."

Hank waved him off like it was no big deal. "The birth of one's first child, or _children_ in your case, is an emotional and sometimes overwhelming event. Everyone reacts differently."

He nodded silently, his head still in his hands as a hush fell over the lab, broken only by the occasional whimper from the child on the table.

A few minutes passed by before Hank spoke up, breaking the silence. "Well, my boy, I have finished your son's examination." Instantly, he lifted his head, standing up and stepping to the table, regarding the blue doctor with an anxious expression. Hank continued. "He appears to be in perfect health. The only note I made on his chart was the obvious early sign of mutation, the broader aspects of which will remain to be seen. Simply put, his examination went well and I find no abnormalities to be concerned with. He is a normal, healthy baby boy."

At Hank's declaration, he found himself letting out the breath he didn't even know he'd been holding.

"Now, I believe it is your daughter's turn to be examined, and I'm sure young Olivier here is anxious to get back to his mother for his first feeding." The doctor looked up at the young man at his side. "Would you like to carry him back to Rogue?"

He looked up at him in shock. "What d' y' mean?"

Hank chuckled. "I'm not sure how to put it more simply. All I asked was if you would like to carry your son back to your wife."

His eyes widened. "Y' mean… pick him up?"

Hank chuckled again at his response. "That would be the first step, yes."

His heart stopped. He shook his head furiously. "I never held a baby b'fore." He swallowed. "Rogue would kill m' if I broke 'im."

At that, Hank downright laughed out loud. He tried to not let that hurt his pride, although it did, a little. "Well, I don't doubt that," Hank replied with a bit of a chuckle. "However, I can assure your that 'breaking' him is of no concern." The good doctor scooped the infant off the table, and before he knew what was happening, the tiny, seemingly-boneless baby was thrust into his arms.

He froze instantly, his heart nearly jumping out his throat as Hank adjusted hold. "There, now make sure to support his head…" the doctor said as he positioned his arms. Finally, the baby was resting in his embrace. "See, you're doing just fine. I'll go let Rogue know that you're bringing him in, and give you two a moment to get to know one another."

In what felt like an instant, he was alone, standing in the middle of the med bay holding his child… his impossibly tiny child. The infant was so light, he could hardly feel him in his arms. He wondered what Rogue had been complaining about all those months as she moaned about the extra weight she had to carrying around. The baby felt like nothing, even times two it couldn't be _that_ bad. He almost felt like a giant holding the infant, and that fear that he might inadvertently crush the tiny, limp body in his arms refused to dissipate. He looked down into his son's face, and his breath caught in his chest.

His son.

As he looked at the boy's features, those words suddenly didn't seem so foreign. Something in there was Rogue - maybe the chin, which was a little softer and less defined than his was - but for the most part, this child, his son, was the mirror image of himself. The tanned skin, the eyes, the tuft of brown hair, the cheekbones, evident even in his swollen, newborn stage, it was all him. There was no doubt that this was his son.

**His **son.

And that's when he knew. He knew, right then and there, that something had changed. His life before, the person he was, it had ended. Everything that had defined Remy LeBeau from before that moment no longer qualified. He had come into this world belonging to no one, and had lived his life as a man with no permanent hold to anyone. Even his relationship with Rogue, as strong as it was, could be broken, taken away from him, if he wasn't careful. She was his because she chose to be. But his child… Olivier was his _son_. **His** son. For the first time in his life, he was connected to someone in a way that could _never _be broken or taken away from him. No matter what happened, Olivier would always be his child. He would always have his blood running through his veins.

He had a family. A real family.

He understood then what Rogue had known all along. He knew why this was so important to her, having children of their own. When they got married, they made a vow… ten years. Ten years they would try for children, and if in the end they were not successful, they would let that dream go, no hesitation, no regrets. They would make a valiant effort, but if it wasn't meant to be, they wouldn't waste their entire lives together on it. They hadn't had to wait 'till that ten year mark, but even still, the years of trying… it had been hard. Month after month with no success, of seeing their friends bear children while the fear that Rogue's natural mutation would keep her from reproducing continued to grow with each negative test. And then the miscarriages. The heartache they had produced, for himself but more importantly his love, had seemed too great a hardship to possibly be worth it. But now he understood. All those years, all the stress and pain and tears, it **had **been worth it. He would give anything to have what he had in his arms at that moment.

Olivier squirmed in his embrace, his tiny eyes opening and locking into a hazy gaze with his father. He stared down into those little dark eyes, two miniaturized copies of the ones he hated his whole life. Suddenly, he couldn't remember why. Looking down into his son's eyes, he finally saw what Rogue had seen in his own eyes so many years ago. They were beautiful.

He bent down, lowering his face closer to the tiny infant. "_Bonjour, petit_," he whispered softly. "_Je suis ton père_. I don' know what da hell 'm doin', but I'm gonna try."

The baby's face scrunched up slightly. His gentle whimper began growing in its intensity.

"Oh no, don' y' cry now," he said, trying to hide the slight panic in his voice. "Remember what I jus' said 'bout not knowin' what da hell 'm doin'?" The baby ignored him as he began wiggling weakly in his arms. "_D'accord_, we jus' gonna bring y' t' y' _maman, _she's da one dat deals wit' da cryin'." He started walking briskly towards the patient room, careful not to jostle the infant as he moved.

He backed into the room, pushing the door open behind him. Rogue was laying in the bed, still beautiful despite the light sheen of sweat on her brow and the fatigue in her eyes. In her arms was his daughter, Aveline. His daughter. He smiled, knowing that the fear that phrase produced in him would soon be alleviated. He just needed to hold her.

Yes, something _had_ ended that day. That life, the one of the abandoned child that nobody wanted, the orphan, the street urchin who had grown up knowing that no matter who he connected himself with he would always be, in his heart, alone… that life was over. It ended. And in its wake, something new had begun. Yes, it was scary, and yes, it was new. But it wasn't lonely.

And that… that, he was ready for.

* * *

This Interlude is dedicated to _**Fostersb**_ who theorized that Remy would name his future potential daughter Aveline. For months I was planning on the twins' names coinciding with comic cannon, but as soon as I read that, I was hooked.

* * *

Again, this chapter, while titled so, is not actually the end. Nope. That's just me, being pretentiously clever by titling a chapter about the _beginning _of a baby's life 'the end'. Wow, so ironic, right? Someone cue the Alanis Morisette, because it's totally like rain on your wedding day. Or a free ride when you've already paid. It's the good advice that you just didn't take. And who would've thought, it figures? And, to add to the irony, next chapter is titled "The Beginning", and guess what happens?! Man, I am just SO clever!

***Feel free to roll your eyes at this point. You know you want to***

So, if you're a fan of irony, or you just liked the chapter and want to read the next one as soon as possible (a warning: it will be looong, and thus might take a bit), leave me a **REVIEW** please!


	21. The Beginning

**Disclaimer: If I owned these characters, I would probably have enough money to buy a pony. Do you see any hoof prints around my house? Yeah, didn't think so.**

This chapter is so long. Please don't hate me, but I'm so worn out now from writing it, that I'm skipping review replies. Yes, I know, I totally suck. But you guys don't, you rock! Seriously, I loved all your reviews. The feedback from the last two chapters was so insane and heartwarming. You all totally made my holiday season.

We do have a **Reviewer Quote of the Week**, though. From Chapter 19:

"_I just wish they'd bang already though." -- _From **Saturnian Solitude. **I did a serious spit-take when I read that. Crack. Me. Up.

And on a related note, this chapter is dedicated to **Saturnian Solitude**, as well. SS is an amazing writer, one who's level of skill and sophistication I can only dream of one day achieving. She has a way of saying so much with so little words. Clearly, based on the word count of this chapter, I haven't mastered that little trick yet. However, during so many points in writing this, when I just got stuck on auto-pilot and couldn't make the words stop, I thought about SS and tried my hardest to, well, stop typing. So, here's to you, **SS**! I hope you kick ass in school this semester!

And last but not least, to answer two important questions about our little Interlude**: 1) **Yes, that was seven years in the future of **this** story, and **2) **No, we're not going to be sticking around in that seven-year future. We're popping back into the old time line. So, think of that Interlude as a quick little glimpse into the future before we go back to the story at hand…

* * *

_Chapter Twenty-One: The Beginning_

He clung to her, his arms wrapped around her in a desperate embrace. A lump was forming in his throat, and he knew he was starting to cry. Quite frankly, he didn't really care at this point.

"Remy, yer makin' it awfully hard for me ta leave."

He tightened his hold around her body. "S' don't."

Rogue was freaking out. He should have seen it coming. _She_ should have seen it coming. He'd had a handful of freak-outs of his own in the lifespan of their relationship so far, and she had just as many intimacy issues as he did. It was just a matter of time.

Ironically, it was that absence of past freak-outs that had set her off. Apparently, she realized that they'd been together for over a year, and she had yet to lose her cool over the relationship… and she was losing her cool over _that_, as she put it when she had talked with him about it the night before. Her lack of freak-outs was freaking her out. It was the stupidest thing he had ever heard. It sounded just like something he would do… which was exactly why he knew for _certain_ that it was the stupidest thing he had ever heard.

So she was running. A slow, controlled, and completely planned-out run.

The timing turned out to be perfect, coincidentally. Jean had a big O-Chem project due the following Monday that required her to be on campus, either in the library or the lab, for as much time as humanly possible, and so she was taking Warren up on the offer to use his place in the city for the week. Apparently the penthouse was rarely used, and conveniently located just a couple blocks away from NYU. Rogue decided it would be a good idea to go with her. She'd spend some time in the city, get familiar with the campus she'd be attending in two months, talk with her program advisor, but mostly, she'd be getting some space. Taking some time to reevaluate the relationship, making sure what she wanted was really what she wanted.

And he could understand that, right? He thought he could, when she had unloaded all this on him the night before. Sure, the larger part of him was panicking in a major way, but a small, more mature part of him could see where she was coming from. He could give her some space. He could be cool about this. She just needed some time away, but after that, she'd come back to him. He knew she would.

Or, at least he _had_. Now, standing in the front entry way with his arms wrapped around her as he sniffled like a little girl, he wasn't so sure.

"Remy," she said, her voice slightly muffled from where he had her pressed against his chest, "ya said last night that ya understood."

"I lied."

"Remy…" she sighed. When she pulled away from him (with a great amount of force), he couldn't hold back a tiny sob as a few mutinous stray tears dropped from his eyes. "I need ta do this. Please don't make this any harder on me than it already is. It's not fair."

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. "Please don' go," he whispered.

He should really be embarrassed. This should be embarrassing. It would be bad enough if he had reduced himself to tearful begging in private, but they had an audience here. Scott and Jean were saying their own goodbyes a few feet to the left (sans the tears, or course, because F-ing Boy Scout over there knew _his_ girlfriend was coming back), and a small group had gathered behind them near the stairs to see the two girls off. Here he was, Gambit, the Ragin' Cajun, _le diable blanc_, and all around Bad-ass MoFo, sniveling like a baby in front of Logan, Piotr, Kitty, Kurt, and half of the New Recruits. He _should _be embarrassed, but he wasn't. At the moment, his emotions were a little preoccupied with the fact that the love of life was kicking him to the curb.

She reached up, looking into his eyes as she traced his jaw line with a soft, gloved finger. "I'm doin' this for us."

He sniffed. "If y' were doin' dis f' us, you'd _stay_."

She sighed again, her eyes shifting to the side for a second before she awkwardly tugged him a few feet to the side, further away from the uncomfortable audience watching in the wings. At least _she_ seemed embarrassed by the scene he was creating. That was fine, she could be as embarrassed as she liked… as long as she didn't leave.

She lowered her voice. "Remy," she began, "ya hafta understand where I'm comin' from. What I feel for you… well, it's serious. And that scares me. Yer the first person I've ever been with. Yer the first person I've had feelin's for that's had feelin's for me, too. We've been practically livin' together since we started this relationship, an' I just need ta make sure that the way I feel has nothin' ta do with the fact that yer here, and yer wonderful, and I love you…" She took his head in her hands. "Because I do love you. I love you. I just…" She dropped her hands. "I just need some space ta get my head on straight, that's all."

He took a deep breath, his eyes dropping to the floor. It was too hard to look at her. "Can I call y'?"

"I wish ya wouldn't." His bottom lip quivered as the tears began pooling in his eyes again. She put a hand on his chest. "Hey, they say absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? A week without seein' ya or hearin' yer voice, and I'll be running back ta you in no time." She leaned in and wrapped her arms around his waist. He took the hug, bending down to bury his face in her hair. "Ya understand why I'm doin' this, right?"

"_Non_." He did understand, but he didn't want to say it. Saying it would just be giving her permission to leave him, and he just couldn't do that.

She held him tighter. "I know ya don't mean that."

They held each other for a minute, and he felt her breath hitch with a sob of her own. Good. She should cry. She should cry so hard that she'd figure out how stupid this idea was. Even though the tiny, rational part of him was saying that this was a good thing, and a natural step in any serious relationship, the larger, insecure part of him knew that this was it. This was the end that he always knew was coming. She was going to go away and realize that he was no good for her. She'd take a few steps back and finally see him for what he really was. This was it.

She pulled back from him. "This isn't the end, Remy." It was like she was reading his mind. She took one of his hands, placing it above her heart. "Ya know I love ya, but if ya need some proof, just use yer empathy. Feel what I'm feelin'."

He did as she asked, opening up his empathy and pulling her emotions. She was right, she did love him. He felt it, pounding against him like a powerful ocean wave. But he felt fear there, too, and another emotion that he couldn't quite name but was pretty damn familiar with.

She really did need this.

He sighed, leaning forward to rest against her forehead again. "I wish y' didn't have t' go."

She swallowed. "I know."

He released her then, knowing that if he didn't do it soon, he'd never have it in him. She hesitated before she stepped away, looking at the ground as she kissed her two fingers, touching them to his cheek before she turned away. She was too much of a wreck to control her powers, he knew that.

She walked the three feet away from him where her small suitcase was waiting by the door. He looked away as she waved sheepishly in response to the few scattered and uncomfortable _'Bye, Rogue'_s and _'Bye, Jean'_s emitted from the students by the stairs. Yeah, it was awkward as hell at this point. He sniffed, reaching up to wipe away his tears with a little more force than necessary. Okay… _now _he was embarrassed.

He didn't look back until he heard the door close behind the two girls, and she was gone.

As the crowd dispersed, he heard Logan step up behind him, his footsteps always a little heavier and sturdier than anyone else he knew. The older mutant placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Let her run, kid," Logan said, his voice low and gruff. "It's her way. She just needs ta get out every once in a while, but she always comes back. Always." He gave Remy's shoulder a forceful squeeze, shoving him lightly on the arm in reassurance as he began to walk away, his voice trailing into the background.

"Just let her run."

***

Riding out the hours of no-contact with Rogue was hard, but surprisingly, it turned out to be a lot more bearable than he thought it would be. Horrible and mind-numbingly painful, but bearable none the less. That first night, Logan took him out to Harry's. Didn't say a word, just ushered him into the X-van and drove him out to get nice and hammered. Fed him shot after shot and let him pass-out at the bar. Apparently, he even brought him back home and tucked him into bed, because Remy awoke the next morning -- or, technically, afternoon -- in his own room. Logan even took care of David for him, taking the dog into his room for the night so he wouldn't be troubled by his standard 5 a.m. wake-up call.

The following day had the benefit of a face-melting hangover to help take his mind off Rogue. But even as good a distraction as it was, it wasn't foolproof. He still thought about her. He still missed her. He still wondered where she was and who she was with and what she thinking about their relationship. He decided, without a doubt, that being on this side of the whole freak-out thing definitely sucked something major. Basically, it was just a long ass day, and he was thankful when the night finally came.

Normally he loathed medication in any form, and only took it when completely necessary, but he figured it was a good time to make an exception, and accepted Kitty's offer of a Tylenol PM. At ten o'clock, he snuggled himself down in his bed, with David at his feet, ready for a solid seven hours of blissful unconsciousness. He had made it through his first whole day without her. There was a half-formed thought in the back of his mind that this may the first day of a _lifetime_ without her, but he didn't want to think about that. No. She was coming back; Logan said it, and he had to believe it. He _had _to, or else he might just break down again. He closed his eyes and let the medication do its work.

.

.

.

Like most untimely deaths, Jean-Luc's came suddenly, and without warning.

.

.

.

Some hours later, he was awoken from his slumber by a shrill trill resonating through his room. He jumped up in his bed, his mind still heavy and foggy with medicated sleep as he looked around his darkened bedroom for the source of the noise. David grunted sleepily from the end of the bed. It took him almost a full thirty seconds to come to his senses and realize that the sound was being emitted from his cell phone on the bedside table. He glanced at the clock as he reached for the phone. It was almost 4 a.m. He rubbed his eyes with one hand as he snapped open his cell, pressing it to his ear.

"'Allo?"

There was a brief pause before a man's voice answered on the other end. "Remy."

"Henri?" A wave of dread swept over him. His brother shouldn't be calling him, and there was something in his voice that he didn't like. Instantly, he sat up straighter in his bed, all traces of sleep gone from his system.

"He's dead, Remy. _Père_ is dead."

A cold chill ran down his spine and the room suddenly felt smaller.

He sat there, still, until finally he spoke the one word that came to his mind. "Assassins?"

On the other end, Henri gave a short, humorless chuckle, sniffling a little at the end. "Actually, _non_. Would have t'ought it, though, right?"

Jean-Luc was dead.

Remy shook his head, willing his brain to work as he felt his heart seize up. "I don' understand…"

"Heart attack," Henri answered. His voice was thick and hollow. He sounded tired, like he'd been crying and had finished some time ago. "He didn't feel good all day, we knew somet'in' was up. Den he got real bad after dinner… we took 'im t' da hospital. He, uh…" Henri trailed off, sighing. Remy sat there, in the dark, in his room, the phone pressed hard against his ear. "He was doin' better, for a time. Was waitin' t' go t' da Cath Lab, whatever dat means. Dey were gonna do somet'in', t' fix his heart. Doctors t'ought he could make da wait, but den… he just got bad again. All of a sudden. An' den he was gone."

The line went silent. Remy didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to think. The air in his room felt thick and hard to breath. He suddenly felt nauseous.

Jean-Luc was dead.

"Remy?"

"Did he--" He wasn't sure what he was trying to say. He ran a hand down his face. "Did he… say anyt'ing? I mean… before it happened?"

"Yeah." Henri sighed. "He talked some, while we were waitin'." There was a pause, and Remy heard his brother take in a deep shaky breath before he spoke again, his voice quivering. "I'm so sorry, _petit_. I should've called y' den, let y' talk t' him. Da way he was goin' on… I t'ink he knew. But I figured it was jus' da drugs talkin', cuz da doctors t'ought he'd make it t'rough…"

Remy closed his eyes and tried to swallow back the lump that was forming in his throat. "What did he say?"

"Oh, da usual, y' know? How he'd had a long life, but dere was still stuff he woulda wanted t' do…" Henri paused, swallowing audibly. "He wanted me t' tell y' dat he loved y'." Remy bit his lip as his brother continued. "Said he regretted not doin' right by y'. Wished he had fought da exile, screw tradition an' all dat shit." Henri's breath hitched. "He said dat was da one t'ing he'd regret… not takin' care of y' better." Remy covered his eyes with his hand as his brother let out a small sob. "I'm so sorry, _petit_…"

He shook his head, willing himself not to focus on the growing ache that was taking over inside his chest. "I don' understand… it don' make no sense. He was healthy."

"He was over 150 years old, Remy." It should have come as a shock to have the rumors confirmed, but in that moment, he couldn't feel it. "Even still, he shoulda lasted longer, but I don't t'ink he's been takin' Tante's elixir since _Maman _died. I guess it just takes a while for it t' wear off an' let nature take its course…"

Remy took a moment to breath. This was all too much. It was too much information, too fast. He wasn't processing properly.

Jean-Luc was dead.

"Look, Remy," Henri said, breaking the silence, "I'm sorry, but I gotta go. I got all dis Guild shit t' deal wit' now. Da funeral's tomorrow mornin'… gotta git 'im in da ground b'fore I can take over officially. I need y' down here by den."

Remy shook his head, even though his brother couldn't see him on the other end of the line. "I can't. 'm exiled."

"Don't matter. It's Guild Law. As his son, y' presence is required at da funeral. It trumps any ot'er declaration, even exile. No one's gonna give y' any trouble. Y' need me t' send someone up t' get y'?"

He shook his head again. "We have a jet," he said numbly.

"Okay, den. Y' just go grab Rogue and get y' ass down here, _d'accord_? I need _mon frère _wit' me, don' wanna be worrying about y' dealin' wit' dis up dere."

He cringed as a fresh pain stabbed at his heart. "No Rogue. Just me."

There was a very noticeable and awkward pause before Henri sighed. "Oh Remy… what happened?"

"It's…" he trailed off, not really wanting to bring this into the mix. "It's not'in'. She's just takin' some time."

Henri sighed again. "I'm so sorry, _petit_. You just get down here, _d'accord_? Y' get down here, an' I'll take care o' y'. I'll take care o' everythin'. I gotta go." The line clicked, and Henri was gone.

He sat there on his bed, silent and still. The room was eerily quiet. He felt strange. Looking down, he noticed for the first time that David had moved up to his side sometime during the conversation, laying his head in his lap. He thought absently that he should pet the dog, give him some assurances, but he didn't want to move. He didn't want to touch him. His skin felt tingly and oversensitive, and the ache in his heart had grown to overwhelming proportions.

Jean-Luc was dead.

Suddenly, the silence in the room was broken by a soft knock at the door. He looked up, but before he could move or answer, it opened slightly. Logan peeked his head in through the crack.

"You up, Gumbo?"

He nodded dumbly, staring absent-mindedly at a random spot on the opposite wall, and Logan took that as permission to enter the room. He stepped in lightly, stopping near the side of his bed. "I heard talkin'."

Remy blinked, his body still frozen. "I got a phone call."

Logan waited. "Yeah?"

He continued to stare blankly for a few moments before he finally answered, his voice soft and thin. "_Mon papa est mort_." He looked up at Logan, standing in front of him. "Jean-Luc is dead," he repeated.

A moment of silence passed between them as the older mutant processed the information. "Damn, kid," he said softly. "I'm sorry." He paused. "Assassins?"

Remy shook his head. "Heart attack."

As a quiet fell upon them, the reality of the situation opened up to him, and Remy felt that nausea that had settled upon him flare up unexpectedly. His stomach did a flip and he suddenly felt himself dry heaving. Logan reacted faster than he could, grabbing a nearby trashcan and holding it front of him in time for him to empty his stomach contents. In the early hour, it was mostly acid, and the bile stung at the back of his throat.

Confident that he had finished, Logan set the trashcan down, walking into the adjacent bathroom and filling up a glass with water from the sink. He returned to Remy's side, wordlessly offering him the glass.

As he slowly drank the bitter-tasting water, Logan spoke. "What can I do for ya, kid?"

He finished his drink, setting the glass down on the bedside table. "Nothin'." He paused. "I need t' go down t' N'Orleans."

"Okay," Logan nodded, "I can get that set up." He crossed his arms. "How about now, what do ya need?"

He hesitated. "I don' know." It was an honest answer.

Logan shifted the weight on his feet. "Ya want me to call Rogue?"

"_Non_." His answer was automatic.

"Kid--"

"She said not t' call." He looked up Logan, knowing that the man had a habit of doing things anyway. "Please don', Logan. You'll only make it worse."

It was with begrudging reluctance that Logan nodded his acquiescence. An awkward silence fell upon the room.

"Look, kid," Logan mumbled, looking around with discomfort, "this emotional shit… I don't do it too well. You want me ta wake up the Professor?"

Remy closed his eyes briefly. "_Non_." He sighed. "I t'ink I jus' wanna be alone."

Logan nodded. "Okay."

Remy looked up. "Can you take da dog wit' y'?" He wanted to be _really _alone.

"Sure, kid." He gave a short, high whistle, and the dog's ears perked up. Immediately, David jumped off the bed, coming to rest at Logan's side. He was the only other person the dog responded to without question, and Remy had a feeling that it had something to do with the mutant's more feral instincts. Logan left the room without another word, with David in tow, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Alone in his room, Remy let the silence and the darkness wash over him. He laid down in his bed, curling up in a ball on his side. Pulling the covers up and over him, he closed his eyes, and cried.

.

.

.

He awoke some hours later, his body still achy and sluggish, his eyes puffy and tired. His ears were ringing. Sunlight was streaming in brightly from behind his window curtains, and he could hear the sounds of the other students filtering up from downstairs. He hated it. He didn't want to deal with today. He didn't want to deal with tomorrow. All he wanted was to go back to sleep where nothing matter and no one had died.

He didn't even know why he was so upset. He had hated Jean-Luc for so many years. The man had used him, lied to him. They fought with one another constantly, and when he needed his father the most, the man had sidled up with the enemy and banished him from his hometown and his family. Jean-Luc's death should have come as a relief, if anything.

But it didn't.

It hurt, and it left him breathless.

He stayed curled up in his bed with the covers over his head for twenty minutes, willing sleep to overtake him once again, before someone knocked on his door gently. He listened beneath his blankets as the door creaked on its hinges and two sets of footsteps entered the room.

"Remy?" he heard Kitty whisper. He cringed from inside his hiding place. "Remy, are you, like, awake under there?" She paused. "Remy?" Pause. "Remy?" Pause. "_Remy_?"

He groaned, reluctantly pulling the covers down and sitting up in his bed. Clearly, the girl wasn't giving up.

"Oh good, you're up." Kitty was standing in the middle of the room, a tray of food in her hands, as Piotr stood silently behind her. "The Professor said that he sensed you were awake, and I was worried that the old guy was, like, totally losing his touch or something."

Piotr leaned forward, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder. He looked to Remy. "How are you, my friend?"

"Peachy," he deadpanned, rubbing his face with both hands roughly.

This was just great. As if feeling like absolute emotional shit wasn't bad enough, he now had to deal with everyone's sympathy. And pity. He wished there was a nice big rock he could go crawl under.

"Well, we, like, brought you breakfast, or I guess it's more like lunch at this hour, and um…" He looked up, surprised as Kitty's voice caught. Her bottom lip was quivering. "…Logan said that… when you're… done… he'll have the… jet… ready…" She was holding back sobs now, and a sea of tears was pooled in her eyes. Remy watched her silently with morbid fascination as she placed the tray of food at the foot of his bed. Why the hell was _she_ crying? "… and… while you're… gone, I can… take care… of… Da-…Da-…Da-…" At that, she broke down, dissolving into a violent crying fit. She threw herself into Piotr arms, clutching him as her body racked with sobs.

Remy sat motionless on the bed in stunned silence. What the hell was going on?

Piotr put his arms around the crying girl. "What she means to say is that she will take care of your dog while you are away. We all will." It was then that Remy noticed the tears in Pete's eyes as well as he comforted the petite girl in his arms. "There there, Katja, it will be alright."

"I… I just…" Kitty bawled. "I just feel so **awful** for you, Remy!"

He continued to stare at the pair. Their behavior was… beyond strange. But on the bright side, based on the way they were holding one another as they cried, they were probably going to get back together over this. Well, wasn't that nice. Hey, his dad was dead, but at least his friends would be getting some action out of it. Super. That nice big rock was sounding better and better.

Before he could open his mouth to ask what the _hell _they were going on about exactly, the Professor wheeled into the room.

"Piotr," he said, addressing the large mutant, "why don't you escort Miss Pryde back to her room? I'd like to speak with Remy alone."

Piotr nodded, leading the sobbing girl out of the room and shutting the door behind them. Xavier made his way to the side of Remy's bed.

"Remy," he began gently, placing a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder. "My greatest sympathies are with you, dear boy. How are you holding up?"

He stared at the sheets, not wanting to make eye contact. "Peachy," he deadpanned again. This was going to get old… fast.

The Professor dropped his hand. "I sincerely doubt that. I know this a confusing and emotional time, and I'm sure, at this junction, you probably don't want to talk about it--"

"I don't." Remy interjected.

Xavier nodded. "I understand. However, if the time should come that you do desire to talk, please know that my door is always open. I'm here for you, in whatever way you want me to be." He steepled his fingers in front of him. "Now, I understand you wish to be alone, however, I see now that there is a small matter that we must deal with… your empathy. This power is so new to you, and I fear that your current levels of control will be too weak to protect you from an onslaught of outside emotion at an event as highly charged as a funeral. But even more pressing than that… well, the problem is… you're projecting. Quite powerfully. In fact," he swallowed, "I'm having some trouble holding myself together as it is."

At that, Remy looked up, surprised to find tears streaming down the Professor's calm face.

"Dat's…" he fumbled, "dat's comin' from me?"

"Yes, it is." Xavier reached up to wipe away the tears from his face. "It's quite overwhelming, actually. I can only assume that you are responsible for your friends' outbursts as well. I can place a psychic shield around your empathy that should hold until you return."

Remy closed his eyes, and wondered briefly if the Professor could just take it all away while he was at it. Just lock away his emotions and make him numb, so he wouldn't have to deal with this hollow aching pain that wouldn't go away and threatened to swallow him whole.

"I could," Xavier said, answering out loud the question he had apparently projected in his mind, "but it would only be a temporary relief. As much as it pains me to say it, my dear boy, this grief is yours. You must endure it, one way or another."

.

.

.

He looked out the window as the X-Jet slowly began its descent into the city he had missed for almost a year and a half. He couldn't help but sigh. This wasn't quite the reunion he'd been hoping for, and the Crescent City didn't shine out as vibrantly as he had remembered. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the plane's window as a lump began forming in his throat. He was tired of crying.

"Strap in, Gumbo. Those geeks in the tower have a hissy fit if they don't see everyone buckled up when ya land."

Logan had insisted on coming. He was waiting for him, his bag all packed, when Remy arrived in the hanger. Said they didn't trust him to fly in his condition. That was a load of shit and Remy knew it. Xavier just wanted him to have a chaperone. It was unnecessary, and intrusive, but if he was honest with himself, he could kind of see where they were coming from. He was an emotional wreck, and it might have been safe to say that he couldn't be trusted in his current state of mind not to fly the jet straight into the broad side of a mountain. If he _had_ to have an escort, at least out of all the X-men, Logan probably knew how to carry himself in a Guild setting.

After landing, the two mutants exited the plane, stepping down the ramp with their duffle bags in hand to find a black, Guild-owned town car waiting for them on the tarmac. Leaning precariously against its hood was a short, red-headed man. Upon seeing them coming, he jumped off the car, a huge smile plastered across his face as he waved at them excitedly.

Remy groaned as they walked towards the car. _'Why the hell would they send __**Lapin**__ to pick me up? He can barely even reach the pedals…'_

"Remy Etienne LeBeau, y' sorry _fils de putain_!" Lapin exclaimed once they reached his side, throwing his arms around Remy in a brutal bear hug. "Is dis y' lucky day o' what, y' handsome bastard?! Da Big Easy ain't been da same wit'out y'!" He pulled back, the grin on his face dropping as soon as he took in Remy's tired, morose appearance and his red, puffy eyes. "Shit, boy, y' look terrible! What's da matter?" A look of realization sprang across Lapin's face. "Oh, right, he was y' _père_. Oops!"

Logan, who remained silent for this exchange, looked to Remy questioningly. He rolled his eyes in response. Lapin was an idiot. Jean-Luc had been a well-respected leader, but he wasn't exactly beloved. It was clear that his sons would probably be the only ones to shed any actual tears over his death, and even Remy was still unclear on why he was.

"Logan," he said with a complete lack of enthusiasm, gesturing between the two men, "dis is m' cousin, Emil Lapin. Lapin, dis is Logan." The two men shook hands.

"Hey," Lapin asked excitedly, "you one o' da mutants dat came down a few years back t' help spring da old man?" Logan grunted in affirmation. Emil beamed. "So, which one are y', da one wit' da laser eyes, or da one dat controls da weat'er?"

"I'm the one with these," Logan said as he unsheathed his claws with a distinctive 'SNIKT'.

Lapin's eyes widened. "Ooh. Shiny."

Remy groaned again. "Can we jus' get goin'?"

"You got it, _mon cousin,_" Lapin said as he slapped Remy playfully on the back. "I got da trunk popped, s' just t'row y' stuff in da back and we'll get dis show on da road. But why don' y' turn dat frown upside down, _hein_? Y' ruinin' dat pretty face."

Remy flipped him the bird as he tossed his duffle bag in the trunk behind Logan.

The older mutant hesitated before opening the back passenger door. He looked to Remy. "You sure this kid has a license?"

He almost laughed at that. Emil Lapin had the misfortune of looking perpetually 15 years old, despite the fact that he could grow facial hair and was a good three years older than Remy.

"Hey," Lapin called out as he sat down in the driver's seat, "you'll be jealous o' _hommes _like _moi_ when y' old an' wrinkly an' I'm still gettin' carded at da bar."

Logan grunted, begrudgingly getting into the car. "I can guarantee that will never happen."

The backseat passengers remained silent for the duration of the trip to the LeBeau Mansion, and Lapin was more than happy to fill the silence. Remy closed his eyes, dropping his head back against the seat as the town car sped through the streets of New Orleans while his cousin filled him in all the important things he had missed while he was away -- in other words, all the pranks that been pulled, all the jobs that got botched, and all other general mischief his cousins and brother had been up to. He sighed internally. He _wanted _to be interested in the five-hundred-year-old vase that Henri broke last month, or the hot twenty-something blonde that Theo banged only to find out that she was actually the _sixteen_-year-old daughter of one of the more crotchety Guild Elders… he really did. But he was just so _tired_, tired in a way that penetrated deep into his core and left him feeling heavy and stretched out. Quite frankly, he wished this whole homecoming was happening another time, some time when he could truly appreciate it.

As they drove out past the city on the long, familiar road towards the Thieves' secluded headquarters, he couldn't help but think back to the first time he made this trip, and the man that had been sitting beside him where Logan sat now. That had been the beginning, and now, ten years later, he was pulling up to the front steps of the great mansion to send off the only father he had ever known.

Stepping into the mansion's elegant foyer, Remy was taken aback by the flurry of activity. He'd never seen the place so crowded before. Lapin noted his shock as he entered behind him with Logan.

"Dis is da place to be, _hein_? I guess when it comes t' da Guild-master's funeral, da Guild Law says somet'in' like 'be dere or be square', an' ain't no one wanna find out what '_bein' square' _entails, 'xactly. People been showin' up all day. But hey, da _famile_'s been holding court in da main livin' room mostly, so's dat's y' best bet f' finding Henri. I'm supposed t' bring y' straight t' 'im. Come on."

Emil led the way through the ornately decorated home, weaving them around the various Thieves that roamed the hallways. Looking around, Logan gave out a low whistle.

He turned to Remy. "I wish I brought my camera…Chuck would turn green if he saw this place. He'd never admit it, but the old man's pretty prideful when it comes to that damn mansion of his. This place would put him ta shame."

They entered the living room, a huge open space filled sporadically with various formal couches and loveseats. The room, like the rest of the mansion, was packed with people. Remy noticed Henri near the back, standing to the side as he talked with one of he Guild Elders. He looked up upon their arrival.

"Remy!" Henri called out as the trio made their way towards him, bidding farewell to his previous companion. He looked down and frowned. "Lapin, _vous idiot indolent,_ y' makin' dem carry deir own bags? What da hell do we keep y' around for?" His tone was mostly good-natured, though Remy detected more than a trace of real annoyance in there. He looked almost as tired as Remy felt.

Immediately, Lapin snatched up Remy and Logan's duffle bags, bowing dramatically towards Henri. "_Desolé, mon _Guild-master, Sir!"

Henri rolled his eyes as they reached his side. "An' now dat shit starts…" he muttered under his breath. He sighed before turning to Remy. "Come 'ere, _petit_."

He let his brother wrap his arms around him, pulling him into a deep hug. Henri always had a way of making him feel small and protected, even though by this point he was a couple of inches taller than his older brother. He'd been calling him '_petit_', something like four times already. It was an old nickname that hadn't been used so frequently in years, not since before he hit his growth spurt at fourteen, and its use, while somewhat embarrassing, was also oddly comforting. For just a moment, in his brother's hold, Remy was extremely happy that he was home.

Henri pulled back, examining his face. "How y' holdin' up? Y' look terrible."

He rolled his eyes. "So I've been told."

Henri slung an arm around Remy's shoulder as he turned towards Logan. "Monsieur Claws, it's good t' see y' again."

Logan nodded. "Sorry about your dad, Big Gumbo."

Henri shrugged a shoulder. "_C'est la vie, non?_" He paused before chuckling lightly. "'_Big Gumbo_'… I like dat. Hey, _merci beaucoup _f' makin' sure _mon frère_ got down 'ere safely. Can't believe I told 'im t' fly down here by himself. Guess I wasn't t'inkin' straight at da time. Da t'ought occurred t' me 'bout two hours ago, so I called dat school o' yours only t' find out dat you people were already on top o' it. Saved me a world o' worry, y' did."

Remy groaned. Everyone was treating him like he was five years old and his puppy just got run over.

"It's no problem," Logan grunted.

"I apologize f' da state o' dis place. Hey! Theo!" Henri called out suddenly to his left. Their cousin lifted his head from a poker game on the other side of the room. "Monsieur Claws over 'ere is takin' y' room. Y' gonna have t' find someone t' bunk wit', _d'accord_?"

Theo treated him with a hearty salute. "_Oui, mon _Guild-master, Sir!"

Henri groaned. "As soon as I'm sworn in," he muttered, "I'm shippin' dose smartasses off t' Siberia, or some ot'er desolate, forsaken hellhole… see how much spunk dey got left when dey come back wit' dere balls frozen t' da side o' deir legs…"

They hung around the living room for a while longer, with Logan making small talk with Henri and others while Remy, for the most part, remained silent. Normally, Logan wasn't the most social guy, but he seemed to fit in well with the Thieves, especially some of the older ones. Remy just wasn't in the mood for talking. He was worn out and sullen, and everyone seemed to pick up on that. He was given his space.

He barely ate at dinner. He was in a mood; Mercy told him so outright after she hugged him 'hello' and he asked her why she was giving him _that_ look. He barely acknowledged seeing the baby for the first time. His father had died less than 24 hours before and he was back home for the first time since his exile. He was still confused on _why_ he had such strong emotions about Jean-Luc's death, but he was self-aware enough to realize at this point that he wasn't taking it well. Even Henri was holding up better than he was.

In fact, his brother was impressing him. He appeared to be grieving as well, yes, but more apparent was the air of authority that now hung about him. Maybe it was fatherhood that had changed him, or simply having the crown thrust upon him so unexpectedly, but Henri was really stepping up to the plate. Although he wouldn't officially be the Guild-master until the ceremony the next day, he was already carrying himself as the steady, authoritative leader, and with the exception of their cousins, the Guild seemed to be responding to it. Remy was impressed. He just wished he didn't feel like hell himself.

He excused himself to bed early, right after dinner. It had been a long day, and he just wasn't in the mood to prolong it any further. He didn't even want to _think_ about what he'd have to deal with tomorrow.

When he entered his old room, a rush of emotions spilled over him. His room had been kept exactly as he had left it. His bed was unmade and there was even a half-empty cartoon of cigarettes on the nightstand. He knelt down, picking up a wadded-up t-shirt he had left on the floor. His room was the same, but it was clean, immaculate even. Someone had kept it up, dusting all the surfaces and carefully vacuuming around the items on the floor, waiting for his return.

He was home.

Had he really only been gone for a year and a half? It had felt like so much longer, while he was away. Sitting down on the edge of his bed, he thought about Rogue for the first time since Logan had mentioned her name in the wee hours that morning. He missed her. He wished she was here with him instead of Logan. That thought alone almost made him cry. She had picked a really shitty time to need some space. He needed her and he wanted to call, but he knew he wouldn't. She had asked him not to, and he would respect that. As crappy as he treated her sometimes, he had always respected both her boundaries and her wishes, and he would do that now, even if it was the hardest thing he could possibly do.

He got ready for bed, not bothering to do more than strip down to his boxers, and slipped between his soft, Egyptian cotton sheets. He closed his eyes, sighing contentedly as he pulled the covers up around his torso. This bed… no matter where he traveled, or for however long, this bed still felt as warm and welcoming as it had that first night he slept in it as a scrawny 10-year-old. It still felt the same. It still smelled the same. He focused on his breathing as his body relaxed, trying not to think about what tomorrow morning would bring.

.

.

.

He stood next to the casket, small piles of dirt stacked haphazardly upon its top as it waited to be lowered into the grave. The late fall air was unusually brisk for the Southern city, and a bitter wind whipped at his black overcoat, causing the ends to brush against his calves. He couldn't move. The other mourners and well-wishes had all long-since left, but he couldn't move. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he was powerless to stop them.

The funeral had been short and succinct, as Guild tradition stated. A grave-side service with a closed casket. A few words by the Priest -- empty, hollow passages that did nothing to ease the aching in his soul -- followed by another Thieves tradition. Each member of the Guild in attendance was to lay a small handful of dirt upon the casket, quietly voicing their last vow of loyalty to the fallen King, finished off by taking a small pinch of another's dirt and placing it in their pocket. Henri and Mercy had gone first, the new Guild-master being too burdened by his own grief to linger by his father's grave. Remy had held back, unable to bring himself to say goodbye. And now, the others had all gone, having done their duty, and he was left alone.

It wasn't fair. This man… this man should not have so much power over him. When he was alive, Jean-Luc had used him, manipulated him, lied to him, all for his own benefit. Remy had hated him, and still, when his father needed him, he came. Even in death, laying in a casket waiting to be buried six feet under, he could render his youngest son motionless. Even now, Jean-Luc still had a hold on him.

He couldn't control his gentle sobbing as he stared at that damnable pine box. It really _wasn't _fair. He didn't even get a chance to see him, just one more time. Alive one moment and gone the next, and he couldn't even see his father's face. He couldn't even say a proper goodbye. It was if he had vanished suddenly, without reason or warning.

His fingers were growing numb from the cold, and knew he should go, but he couldn't. As he cried quietly, he willed his feet to move, but they wouldn't obey. He had been there for far too long, but he just needed one more moment, one more second. There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn't find the words. If only… If only he'd had one more day with Jean-Luc, one more hour even, they could've fixed everything between them and then maybe, _maybe_ he wouldn't be left with this horrible open wound that didn't seem to want to heal. He just need one more moment. Just one more.

A heavy hand fell upon his shoulders. He knew who it was without turning around. He tried to ebb the flow of tears, but they wouldn't stop.

"C'mon, kid." Logan's voice was softer than he ever remembered hearing it. "It's time to let go."

He nodded, and the hand on his shoulder urged him back gently, helping give him that final push to make the first step. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Closing his eyes, he turned… and walked away.

.

.

.

Sitting on a loveseat in the corner of the packed living room with an empty shot glass in his hand, Remy was pissed.

Mercy was being a bitch. This was a Wake, and a Thieves' Wake at that… he was supposed to be _drunk_. Really, really drunk. A bartender and catering service had been hired for that very reason, but whenever he sent someone to get him another bourbon, they mysteriously disappeared, and curiously, the only servers who came around his corner of the room were carrying hors d'œuvres. He would gave gotten up and walked over to the bar in the back of the room himself, but that opened up the chance that someone might want to talk to him, and he wasn't exactly in a talking mood. He was being left alone to sulk in his little corner, and he wanted to keep it that way. He just wanted the addition of alcohol. Lots and lots and lots of alcohol. It was no coincidence that Logan, Lapin, Theo, and some new young Thief he didn't know but who clearly recognized him by reputation based on the reaction to his eyes had all been conveniently side-tracked before they could bring him back a drink. He knew of only one person that lived in the LeBeau Mansion that would interfere in his life like that, and coincidentally, she was walking straight towards him, the baby in her arms.

"Remy," Mercy said, tossing her long, blonde locks over her shoulder with the flick of her head, "Ah need ya ta do me a favor."

He glared up at her. "Why da hell would I do dat? I know what you've been doin', by da way."

She didn't even try to deny it. "Ah'm just lookin' out for ya. Ya got every reason in the world ta be moody, Remy, but ah know ya. Ah know how ya are when ya get drunk in that state o' mahnd. Ya get self-destructive." She shifted Elle in her arms. "Ah need ya ta hold the baby for a minute so Ah can get a plate of food together for your brother." She turned her head to the side, watching Henri from across the room with a look of concern. "I don't think he's eaten anythin' all day. He puts up a good front, but Ah know this is hurtin' him. Granted, he wasn't as close with Jean-Luc as you were, but either way, he was his father."

Remy furrowed his brows in disbelief. "I wasn't _close_ wit' Jean-Luc."

She scoffed, turning back to him and shaking her head. "Ah love ya, Rems, but yer an idiot sometimes. Everybody knows you two were close, that's why we're all givin' you some space."

He looked away. "All we did was fight."

"Don't mean ya weren't close. You two, ya had a bond, fer good or bad. Maybe ya didn't always _like_ each other all that much, but you were connected."

He looked down at his feet. He didn't even know how to respond to that.

"Anyway," she said, shifting the weight on her feet, "are ya gonna hold Elle for me or not?"

He looked back up at her. "_Non_. I don' hold babies."

"Not even yer niece?"

"She's still a baby, ain't she?"

Mercy glared at him as she knelt down, taking the blanket that was wrapped around Elle and awkwardly laying it on the floor by his feet with one hand as she held the baby with the other. "You can be a real _asshole_, ya know that?"

Remy almost laughed at that. Pre-motherhood Mercy wouldn't have **whispered** the curse-word the way she just did. It was kind of cute that she was trying not to corrupt her child. He made a mental note to teach Elle that specific word later.

Mercy carefully laid the baby down on her back on top of the blanket. She stood up. "Ya think ya can _watch_ a baby?"

He scowled at her. "Maybe if y' bring me anot'er drink first."

She folded her arms, raising an eyebrow incredulously. "Yeah, that's what Ah'm gonna do. Bring ya some booze and ask ya ta supervise my kid."

He frowned. "How about after?"

She paused for a moment as she thought it over. She sighed. "Fahne. _One_ drink." She knelt back down, smoothing out the edges of the blanket before standing up again. "Now, Ah'll be just a few minutes. Don't let her put anythin' in her mouth, an' don't let anyone step on her. If ya can't handle that, we should get ya tested…"

He nodded, keeping his eyes on the baby as she walked away. Well, this shouldn't be too hard. The baby was just laying there. She wasn't even looking at him… she wasn't looking at _anything_, really, just staring in his general direction with a glazed, unfocused look in her eyes. This wasn't so hard.

Then, she started moving. Shit. Arching her back, she wriggled a little to one side. She was starting to tip over. Remy looked up desperately, but unfortunately he could no longer see Mercy in the crowd. Shit, shit, shit.

He looked back down at the baby. She had turned over, now laying on her stomach. Oh. He took a deep breath. So it turned out to be nothing, just the baby rolling over. Babies did that… right? He relaxed back in his seat.

Until she started fussing.

He looked down at the baby at his feet. She was pushing furiously against the floor with her hands, clearly trying to roll back the other way, but she couldn't quite get it. '_Well that's dumb_,' he thought. '_If she can do it one way, she ought to be able to figure out how to roll back over again. Must be Henri's genes_.' Seeing that she was just about there, he reached out one foot, gently nudging the baby the rest of the way. She rolled onto her back easily, and the fussing stopped. He breathed another sigh of relief.

He looked away from the baby, scanning the room for Mercy, wondering how much longer he was going to have to watch this kid. However, after just a moment his attention was brought back down to Elle by the sounds of her whimpering. His jaw dropped when he looked at her. She was on her stomach… again. He furrowed his eyebrows. That was fast, wasn't it? Already, the baby was struggling to roll back over. Like the time before, he nudged her with his foot, and was she happily on her back once again.

This time, he kept his eyes on the child. Sure enough, as he had predicted, she immediately rolled over, and upon making it onto her stomach, began protesting her self-appointed change in position. He nudged her with his foot, and then leaned down towards her.

"Stop doin' dat," he whispered to her. "It's jus' stupid. If y' don' like bein' on y' stomach, don' roll over."

He glared at the infant as she ignored his words of wisdom, flipping over with more gusto than before.

He nudged her back over. She just laid there, staring up at him dumbly with those bright, clear blue eyes. She made a gurgling sound in the back of her throat and stuck her tongue out. Just for a moment. He narrowed his eyes at her. Message received.

"What the hell are ya doin', Gumbo?" Logan asked, startling Remy who hadn't noticed the feral mutant's approach. "You look like you're havin' a pissing contest with a baby."

He sighed, leaning back against the couch. "I t'ink I am."

Logan chuckled as he carefully side-stepped the baby, sitting down next to Remy with two drinks in his hand. "I got your bourbon," he said, handing the younger man his drink. "I would've brought it to ya sooner, but that sister-in-law of yours intercepted me and told me not to. I see her point, but I figure as long I pace ya, you'll probably be alright." Remy nodded, placing his glass on the side table next to him. He did tell Mercy he wouldn't drink while he was watching the baby, after all. Logan gave him a hard once-over. "How ya holding up, kid?"

Remy closed his eyes, running a weary hand over his face. "Honestly," he sighed, "I feel like shit."

"You're at your father's Wake," Logan grunted. "You're supposed ta feel like shit."

Remy dropped his hand. "See, dat's da t'ing. He wasn't even really m' _père_. He only took me in s' he could use me f' my powers. I should hate him. I **did **hate him. I don't understand why 'm so worked up about dis."

Logan finished off his drink, dropping the empty glass on the side table. "Look, kid," he started. "People are complicated. Look at me. I'm an ageless, mutant killing-machine, and I work in a school, of all the damn things I could be doing with my life. And not that I'll ever admit it to them, but workin' with those kids is the best part of my day. Sometimes I wanna kill 'em, but I love 'em, too, ya get that?" He looked at Remy. "Your old man might have been an ass, and maybe he used ya, but that don't mean he didn't love ya just the same. You're probably justified in hating him, but you can't say that ya didn't love him, too."

Remy swallowed hard, that now familiar lump in his throat beginning to form.

"But hey," Logan said, "ya gotta stop dwelling on this, 'cuz it's gonna eat ya alive. Yeah, maybe the guy tried ta manipulate ya while he was alive, but it doesn't matter a whole lot _now_, does it? He's gone, you didn't have ta get hitched like he planned, and the Guilds still got their peace," he said, waving a hand in the direction of the few Assassins attending the wake, distinct in the crowd in their own guild's traditional garb. "This is a new beginning for ya, Gumbo. All the shit he did to ya doesn't matter anymore. You can let it go. According to the stories your family's been tellin' me, you two had some good times, too. A lot of good times. You oughta focus on that. Just let the other stuff go."

Remy turned his head away as a few tears fell from his eyes. He figured Logan had seen him cry enough for one lifetime.

They sat there quietly for a few minutes, idly watching the activity of the Wake and a few drunken Thieves who were singing on the other side of the room before Elle cooed, bringing their attention back to her on the floor.

"Ya oughta pick that baby up," Logan observed.

Remy scowled. "I'm not pickin' 'er up. _You_ pick 'er up."

"Uh uh, no way. Until their x-gene manifests, I don't touch 'em."

Mercy groaned as she emerged from the crowd. "Yer both babies. How 'bout **I** pick her up?" She knelt down, scooping up the baby in her arms as a deep, authoritative voice cut through room.

"Remy Etienne LeBeau."

Mercy stepped to the side as the entire room went silent. Remy looked up. There, standing in front of him, was Marius Boudreaux. Leader of the Assassins Guild. His former future father-in-law. Father of the girl whose heart he had broken and the boy that he killed.

Staring up at him, Remy felt as if time stood still, and his heart was beating out of his chest. He had always known, in the back of his mind, that this meeting would come eventually. He just didn't think it would happen today.

Marius eyed him carefully. "Stand when I speak t' you, boy."

Understanding the seriousness of the situation, Remy did as he was told. He observed the man before him. The past year and a half had hardened Marius. He looked older, a lot older, and he held himself with a more dignified carriage than he remembered. The old back-woods persona had died, probably along with his son.

The leader of the Assassins spoke slowly. "Your father and I," he began, "formed a friendship while y' were away, over da peace talks. He was a wise man, an' a great leader. I came t' understand dis." He paused. "He was also a great father. He understood da importance of steerin' his children's lives in da right direction. I was too indulgent wit' m' own son, I see dis now. I wanted t' be his friend, when I should have been 'is guardian. My boy did not respect me… not da way Jean-Luc's sons respected him."

Remy's heart stood still as Marius stepped closer.

"Your father told me about da girl. You were in love wit' anot'er, and yet y' were willin' t' marry Belladonna because it was y' father's wishes. You were a good son. You were obedient. Julien… he was not. He went against m' wishes when he attacked y'."

The room was stone silent as Marius reached out his hand, placing it upon Remy's shoulder. All breath left his body.

"I was blinded by m' grief, but I can see clearly now. Julien's death, as well as da deaths of his friends, is on his own hands. Remy Etienne LeBeau, _vous êtes pardonnés."_

_You are forgiven._

Marius turned, his voice raising as he addressed the room as a whole. "Too many families 'ave been broken up over dis sordid affair. If da Thieves' new Guild-master were t' revoke da exile of Jean-Luc's son, I would not oppose it. I would encourage all ot'ers t' do da same." He dropped his hand, turning away fully. "Come now, m' Assassins. We have paid our respects, now let's leave dese Thieves t' mourn deir fallen leader in peace."

The Assassins pulled in ranks, following their Guilder leader as they exited the Wake, the crowd parting to make way as they left. The hush that had fallen over the spacious room remained long after they departed. All eyes were on the young man in the corner, still standing in the spot that he had remained in for the entire exchange.

Remy was stunned. He didn't know how to move, how to breath. He was forgiven, and his exile would be lifted. It was the one thing he had wanted more than anything for so long, and now, finally having gotten it, all he could think of was that it was too late.

He could finally come home, but not in time to see his father one last time before he died.

.

.

.

Two hours later, Remy sat near the head of the long table in the Board Room with Henri, the Guild Elders, and Rupert DuVall, who had been Jean-Luc's _Conseiller,_ or chief adviser. It was time to read the will.

Remy slouched down in his chair, closing his eyes. This had been the longest day in the longest _two _days of his life. He couldn't believe it was only the afternoon. It seemed like so much had happened already. He wanted a nap. And more alcohol. But more than anything, he wanted to call Rogue.

He really needed her. She had this inherent strength and life about her, and she just had a way of making him feel whole again with her very presence alone. He hated that he was doing all of this without her. He needed her, and not just as a woman, but as a friend. Because she _was_ his friend, his **best** friend, and she should be here with him, not a thousand miles to the north on some stupid campus trying to convince herself that the two of them being perfect together wasn't such a bad thing.

Once everyone had taken their seats, with Henri at the head, Rupert, sitting across the table from Remy, began reading the will.

"_D'accord_, dis bein' da last will and testament of Jean-Luc LeBeau, Guild-master an' King o' Thieves, it reads: _'I, Jean-Luc LeBeau, being of sound body and mind, declare this to be my last will and testament. I hereby name Henri Robert LeBeau, the Prince of Thieves, to be the heir to my thrown, to reign in my stead or preside in my death as Guild-master, and King of Thieves.'_" Rupert looked up from the paper. "If dere be any objections, let it be known now."

The room was silent. Rupert smiled. "Alright den, Henri, it's y' show now, s' go on an' read da rest." He handed him the will.

Henri cleared his throat, straightening out the papers before he began reading. "Okay, den, so… I'm named da King, we did dat. Dere's an official recommendation dat Remy Etienne LeBeau, da Prince o' Thieves, be named as m' _Conseiller_."

There was a gentle murmur about the room in response. Rupert leaned forward. "Now, Henri, jus' so y' know, any recommendations in da will is just dat, a recommendation. Da throne is yours, s' you can do whatever y' want."

Henri nodded. "I know, but I agree wit' Jean-Luc on dis one. I want _mon frère _as m' advisor, if he's willin' t' fill da position."

Wordlessly, Remy leaned forward, folded his arms on the table and laid his head down atop them, his face buried. This was all just too much for him to handle at the moment.

"But hey," Henri piped in at his reaction, "we can talk about it later, _d'accord petit_? We don' gotta worry about all dat right dis minute."

Remy didn't move or respond as he felt his brother ruffle his hair good-naturedly.

The rest of the will, for the most part, was fairly mundane. Guild Law stated that all financial assets and all items in the Guild headquarters belonged officially to the reigning King, and would automatically transfer ownership to the newly appointed Guild-master unless specifically noted in the preceding King's will. This usually included smaller, more personal items given to family members and friends. Generally, Remy didn't care what he got from Jean-Luc, if anything, and what would be given to Henri. None of it really mattered. Well, except…

"Okay," Henri spoke as he read through the will, "da next t'ing he's got listed is his motorcycle, which he's givin' to… Remy." He paused. "Damn." There was another small pause before Henri placed his hand on his brother's back, who still had his head buried in his arms. "Hey, Rems," he said optimistically, " y' gonna wanna keep dat down here in N'Orleans, right?"

"_Non_." He didn't bother lifting his head from the table. Okay, so that little present from Jean-Luc he was actually pretty stoked about, not that it was enough to break him from his somber mood… yet. Not only was Jean-Luc's Ducati 848 an amazing bike, but he hadn't had his own mode of transportation up in Bayville since he lost his motorcycle back in January. He could have replaced it, but driving around the X-Van for the past ten months had seemed like a good penance for ditching Rogue for three days to go on a bender.

"So," Henri began as he continued to read, "looks like da next item is f' Remy as well… it's da Guild's piano."

That one got him moving. Remy's head popped up off the table in surprise. "_Quoi_?"

"Dat ol' piano in da sitting room. He's givin' it t' you."

Remy stared at Henri in disbelief. "But it's been wit' da Guild f' over a hundred years."

Henri smiled. "An' now it's yours."

As Henri continued on, Remy sat back in his chair, folding his arms in front of him. Jean-Luc had given him the piano. The motorcycle was neat, but this… this meant something.

And now he was getting emotional. He thought back on his younger years and the hours he had spent practicing as Jean-Luc listened from his study down the hall, occasionally calling out with instructions, keeping tabs to make sure his youngest son was perfect in his musical training. Maybe it wasn't exactly a happy memory, with his father as the stern taskmaster and himself as the overworked child, but the truth was, as much of a front as he put on, groaning about the hours of practice, he actually enjoyed the work, and as strict as Jean-Luc was, he always made it clear how proud he was of Remy's talent. The fact that he would choose to give the instrument to him in his passing said more about the man than words ever could. His heart ached just a little more.

The rest of the will was fairly uneventful. Rupert and each of the Guild Elders were all endowed some small item of personal note, and a few other LeBeau artifacts were designated to different family members. It wasn't until the very end that Remy's attention was caught once more.

"An' last but not least," Henri droned on, obviously having grown tired of the exercise himself, "is Aveline'sjewelry collection, which he's givin' t' Mercy, wit' two exceptions, da first bein' a diamond an' emerald tennis bracelet, which he's designatin' f' one Rogue Darkholme."

Remy's jaw dropped slightly before he pulled himself together again. "F' Rogue? Why da hell would he do dat?'

Henri just flashed him an all-knowing smirk as he looked up from the paper. "Probably f' da same reason he's givin' **you** _mère'_s engagement ring."

Once they finished going through the will, all that was left was for Henri to be officially sworn in by the Guild Elders. Remy excused himself, as his presence was not necessary for the ceremony. He really needed some time to himself.

He walked through the long hallways of the LeBeau Mansion, and by the time he reached his room, he had made his decision: he needed her.

Perching himself on the edge of his bed, he fished his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Rogue.

After three rings, she picked up, but her greeting was not exactly what he was expecting.

"Why the **hell** are ya callin' me, Remy?!"

He was momentarily shocked into silence before he responded. "_Chère_, I--"

"--Don't '_Chère_' me, Swamp Rat, I told ya **not** ta call me!" she spat out venomously, stepping over his words.

He sat motionless on his bed, completely aghast at her reaction. She wasn't even letting him get a word in. "I--"

"**No**, Remy! I told ya ta give me some space! I don't need ya checkin' up on me, I can take care of _myself_!!"

"Rogue--"

"**Don't** call me again. Just leave me the _hell_ alone!" Without warning, the line went dead.

He sat there, on the edge of his bed, in stunned silence. He stared at the phone in his hand. Slowly, he took two deep breaths.

Finally, he closed up his phone with a distinctive 'snap' before heaving it against the far wall with all his might. It burst into pieces upon impact.

.

.

.

Hours later, he found himself roaming the deserted hallways of the LeBeau Mansion. The place was quiet, most of the Guild visitors having left after the Wake. He'd skipped dinner; he wasn't hungry and just about the last thing he had wanted was any sort of human interaction.

He didn't know a person could feel so many emotions at one time. He was mad at Rogue, really, really mad. He couldn't ever remember feeling angry with her before, but he certainly was now. He was sad, because he was pretty sure from the phone call that she was done with the relationship, and somehow he hadn't _truly_ believed it would come to that. He was relieved, because his exile would be lifted and he could call this city 'home' again. He was confused, because he found a part of himself, a large part, wishing he could go 'home' right now, and that 'home' was somewhere a whole hell of a lot further north. And he was devastated, down to his very core, because his father had died, and underneath all the other emotions that Jean-Luc's death evoked, he found that he missed him, so very much.

As he let his mind wander, it seemed that his feet had taken it upon themselves to take him where he really wanted to go. He stopped, looking up to realize that he had inadvertently brought himself to his father's study.

He walked in slowly. It seemed so big and empty now, this immense, opulent room that had always served as a symbol of his father's power and status.

Looking upon the large, ornate desk fixated in the middle of the room, he realized suddenly that he had never been behind it. It was Jean-Luc's desk, and he had never dared to invade his father's privacy, not in his office, at least. It had always seemed like the proverbial line that his father's child should never cross. There were a few frames sitting atop the desk, and he wondered now what photos they held, what images Jean-Luc had chosen to greet him each day as he worked.

Slowly, he walked around the large piece of furniture until he was behind it, leaning against the chair.

There were three frames. He reached out to the first. In it, it held an old, time-worn photo of Jean-Luc and Aveline. It was their wedding day. Aveline looked stunning in her white gown, her long blonde hair falling about her face in angelic curls, and Jean-Luc… Jean-Luc looked younger, lighter than Remy ever remembered seeing him. It was a good memory.

He moved on to the second frame. This one held a family portrait, somewhat stiff as most professional photos are. Jean-Luc and Aveline stood side by side with a young Henri, no older than nine or ten by the looks of it, standing dutifully in front of them. It wasn't an overly emotional photo, but they were an attractive family, a cohesive unit. Remy also noted, based on Henri's age, that it might have been one of the last family portraits taken before Aveline passed away. It was the type of picture you would want to keep close.

The third and final photo was different. It wasn't professional and posed like the previous two. It was smaller, just a snapshot, and black and white. The shot seemed to have been taken from a short distance, and its subjects were unaware that they were being captured.

He picked up the smaller frame, bringing it closer. It was himself and Jean-Luc, when he was just a boy. He had to have been maybe eleven or twelve… either way, it was before his powers had manifested, based on the absence of his gloves or the scars underneath. They were on the back lawn, and it appeared to be the fall. He was standing, looking to Jean-Luc as the older man knelt down beside him, his hands in front as he appeared to be explaining something. Remy couldn't remember this particular moment, but it didn't matter. There was a tenderness there, between the two of them, father and son. It was a simple photo, but it said something.

His throat closed up as a tear escaped his eye and traveled down his cheek. This was how his father saw him.

The clearing of a throat caught his attention and he looked up, finding Henri standing in the doorway. Remy gave him a wry smile as he wiped away the tearstains on his face, and his brother took that as permission to enter. He stepped in the room slowly.

"I was just takin' a little walk around da place," Henri began, "an' I sorta ended up here." He grinned at Remy. "Great mind t'ink alike, I guess."

Remy chuckled lightly. "So," he started, looking around the room, "I guess dis is gonna be yours now, _hein_?"

Henri sighed good-naturedly. "Yeah. An' if y' t'ink _dat's _weird, I'm gonna have t' move into 'is room, too." He chuckled. "Mercy's totally freaked out 'bout dat one. Says she won't even look at da place until all our stuff is in dere, alt'ough I doubt dat's gonna make it any easier f' her t' sleep where her husband was conceived."

Remy raised an eyebrow as he walked around to the front of the desk, leaning back against it, the photo still in his hands. "Y' do know y' only have to move into da _room_. I'm pretty sure y' can replace da bed."

Henry moved forward, turning to lean back against the desk at Remy's side. He smiled. "Oh, I know dat, I just haven't filled Mercy in on it yet. It's fun t' let her squirm f' a while."

They both laughed at that, and the sound filled the room. The air felt light. When it was quiet again, Henri spoke.

"I want y' t' go back t' New York."

Remy turned his head to the side to look at his brother questioningly. Henri continued.

"Well, da's not exactly true. Da selfish part o' me wants y' here, 'cuz y' _mon petit frère_, an' I miss y' somet'ing fierce. But I can see dat being here ain't da best t'ing f' you, not right now. What y' got going f' y'self up dere, it's a good t'ing." He sighed. "It hasn't been fair f' you. You were all alone when y' were a pup, an' den as soon as we took y' in, you were da heir t' da throne, right off da bat. Until recently, y' never got a chance t' do somet'ing because **you** wanted t'. I want y' t' have dat chance. Rogue told m' about dat cookin' college y' got into, an' I t'ink dat's great. You should go do dat. An' you should go be wit' y' girl. Dis life will always be here f' you, but right now y' got an opportunity t' try somet'ing different, somet'ing normal."

Remy didn't know what to say for a moment. He looked down at his shoes, fingering the picture in his hands awkwardly. "It's a really good college."

Henri smiled. "Dat's great, _petit_."

He scuffed his foot against the carpet. "An' I could come down t' visit all da time, like f' holidays an' such."

"Oh, I'd require dat."

He paused, sighing. "Don't know 'bout Rogue, t'ough…"

At that, Henri got just a little bit angry. He turned, leaning into him a little. "Now dat's jus' bullshit an' y' know it."

Remy shook his head. "I don' know, Henri… y' don' know what she said--"

"--Don't matter," Henri interjected. "I know you, an' I know how she talks about y' in all dose letters she's been writin' me. You two love each ot'er. Y' might be stupid about it from time t' time, but it don't change da facts. Mercy an' I fight, too, but when y' meant t' be toget'er, y' work t'ings out in da end."

Henri looked at Remy intently, sighing upon seeing that his younger brother wasn't buying his words. "You in da middle of it right now, so y' can't see da big picture here, but trust me. It's all gonna work out between y' two. So, regardless, I t'ink y' oughta go back up dere. I still want y' as m' _Conseiller, _but Rupert can hold da position f' now until y' want it, if y' ever do. In da meantime, y' should go. Do all da stuff y' been planning' on doin'. Go cook, an' be an X-man, an anyt'ing else dat y' t'ink might make y' happy. All I ask is dat y' call me all da damn time. I'm talkin' every day. Twice a day. I wanna get sick o' hearin' y' voice."

Remy smiled. "Yeah?"

Henri slung his arm around his brother's shoulder, reaching up and messin' up his hair. "Yeah. But I'm settin' up a bank account f' you. No more livin' off dat poor, defenseless old man. Y' spendin' Guild money, an' lots of it. I want y' t' have solid gold pots, an' silver spoons--"

"--Silver spoons?" Remy laughed. "I t'ink dat's just an expression."

"Whatever," Henri chuckled, "I just wan' y' t' be da mos' spoiled student in dat whole damn college. Make da ot'er kids jealous o' y'."

Remy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that'd go over well."

They both smiled, letting a peaceful quiet settle over the room. Henri squeezed his brother's shoulder.

"_Je'taime, petit_."

"_Je'taime aussi_, Henri."

.

.

.

He spent the next day simply enjoying the company of his family. It was nice, spending time with his brother, and cousins, and Mercy and the baby, without funerals and wakes and the overwhelming influence of death permeating everything. Logan made himself scarce, heading into town on the pretext of sight-seeing, but Remy knew that the older mutant was simply giving them all some time just for family. They talked, they laughed, and they played a hell of a lot of cards. Remy knew that last one was mostly for his benefit, because he was still in an off-mood, and nothing could cheer him up like winning at poker.

After dinner, it was time to head back to Bayville. He would come back to visit, soon, but for now, he needed a little distance to help him work through his emotions about Jean-Luc's death. Henri came with them to the airport, helping to load Remy' new motorcycle into the blackbird. The piano would stay for now at the Guild Headquarters. He was pretty sure there had to be a rule at the Institute that prohibited storing large musical instruments in the dorms.

After having said goodbye to Henri, promising to come back the next month for Christmas, they were off. It was a quiet, two hour plane ride, and Remy was grateful that Logan was giving him the time to think. Actually, he was pretty appreciative of all of Logan's actions the past three days. He had been there when he needed him, and gave him his space when he needed it, too. If he really thought about it, he was lucky that the man had come along with him.

Realizing this, he turned in his seat towards the feral mutant behind the plane's controls. "Logan, " he said quietly. "_Merci_."

Logan nodded, keeping his eyes on the horizon. "No problem, kid."

They arrived back at Mutant Manor without incident. As soon as he walked inside the mansion, he was greeted by the sound of David running down the hall towards him. He felt bad; he hadn't thought about the dog the entire time he'd been away, but it was clear from the dog's enthusiastic greeting -- jumping up and knocking him to the ground in a flurry of wet, doggy kisses -- that his pet had missed him terribly. He made a vow to make it up to the dog.

It was an hour or so later, after he had called to check in with Henri and had spent a good amount of time practicing his canine massage technique, that he finished unpacking his bag. He pulled out the last item, the framed photo from Jean-Luc's desk. He had figured it was appropriate for him to take it with him. He was just about to place it on his bedside table when he was interrupted by a short, frantic knock. He held onto the picture, taking it with him as he crossed the room to open the door.

It was Rogue.

"Remy!" He looked her over as she stood in his doorway. She was a hot mess. Her hair was pulled back in a haphazard tail, her clothes were somewhat wrinkled, and she looked like she hadn't gotten much sleep in the past few days. It probably should have made him more sympathetic towards her, but it didn't. He stood his ground by the door, not moving so she could enter as she continued. "I just got back, and Kitty told me about yer dad… Remy, I'm so sorry!"

He kept his face as emotionless as he could. "I called t' tell y'."

Her face fell in obvious shame. "I realize that now."

"I needed y'."

"I know."

He couldn't help the trace of anger that tinged his voice. "Y' yelled at me, f' no reason."

She looked horrible now. "I _know_. Remy, I am _so_ sorry. I've been feeling horrible about that since it happened, that's why I came back early. I tried callin' ya, but ya didn't answer yer cell phone."

"I t'rew it against a wall."

"Oh." She swallowed. "Remy, ya have ta believe me, if I had known about yer dad, I never would have--"

"--You _would_ have known," he cut in, "if y' had let me talk." He sighed. "Look, I don't really feel like dealin' wit' y' right now. I'm tired, I've had a long t'ree days, an' I'm just **over **it at dis point. Jus' go away, Rogue. Just leave m' alone."

He shut the door on her, slowly but purposefully, using all of his self-control not to slam it in her face. He turned around to face his room. He felt like throwing something again, but he realized in time that the only thing in his hand at the moment was the picture of himself and Jean-Luc, and he definitely did not want to break _that_. He took a deep, calming breath before walking over to his bedside table and carefully placing the frame on top of it.

He spent the rest of the evening with David, curled up on his bed watching pointless television, letting his mind wander before he finally and unexpectedly drifted off to sleep.

***

She was waiting for him the next morning, sitting in the hall outside his door.

It was nearly 10 am; for some reason, the dog had let him sleep in, and for that he was grateful. He felt somewhat refreshed. Rogue, on the other hand, looked like shit. He told her so.

"I didn't go ta bed last night," she said, picking herself up off the floor. She had a large, rectangle-shaped package in her hand, hastily wrapped in bright colored paper. "I was hopin' you would talk ta me."

He thought about it for a moment before sighing. He stepped to the side, allowing her entrance as the dog exited to do his morning business. Remy closed the door behind them.

She placed the package on his bed and stepped back, looking around the room awkwardly.

He stood a good three feet away from her, his arms folded across his chest. He wasn't as angry with her as he had been the night before. Basically, he just felt numb. He tipped his head to her. "S' talk."

She took a deep breath before she spoke, looking him straight in the eyes. "I'm so sorry, Remy. I'm sorry about yer dad. I'm sorry about not being there for you during all that. I'm sorry for leavin' in the first place. And I'm really, _really_ sorry for how I acted when ya called me."

His heart softened a little as she took a hesitant step forward. "I was missin' you. Hell, I missed you from the first minute after I left. And I hated that. It made me feel weak, like I was one of those girls that can't be on their own, that have to depend on their man for their own personal strength. So I tried not ta think about ya, and just focused on New York, and NYU, and findin' out about my classes and all that stuff."

He watched her silently, letting her get all this out. "When ya called me, it was probably the worst timin' possible." She sighed, looking down at the ground. "I found out that I lost my scholarship. I guess when I deferred my enrollment until January, I didn't inform the scholarship committee properly or somethin', I still don't know what went wrong, but the bottom line is, that money, it's gone. It ain't mine." She shook her head. "I was furious. I mean, I wanted ta do this whole college thing on my own, be strong and independent, and I thought I'd figured it all out. But then all of a sudden I'm finding out that I'm gonna have ta ask someone for money. It just… it sucks."

She looked up at him again. "So, I was talkin' with Jean about it, and first she suggested askin' the Professor, which is totally out of the question. Then… well, then she mentioned that I could always get money from _you_…" She paused, looking down at her feet once more. "And, I don't know, I sort of snapped at that. I was already feelin' like some sort of weak sap because I couldn't go two days without missin' you like crazy, an' here Miss Perfect was suggestin' I ask my _boyfriend _for money." She sighed ruefully. "It doesn't sound that bad right now, but at the time, it sounded like just about the most pathetic thing possible."

She looked up at him. "And that's when ya called." She rolled her eyes. "I know, like I said, it was just **the** worst timin' ever. I snapped at you, and that wasn't fair. Ya didn't do anythin' wrong."

He sighed. "Do you need some money?"

She let out an ironic chuckle. "Yeah, I do, but we're not gonna talk about _that _right now when I've just been the biggest ass on the planet." She boldly stepped up to him, closing the distance between them and taking both of his hands in hers. "Remy, the way I treated you, it wasn't okay, regardless of what happened to yer dad. But addin' to the fact that you were hurtin', and I turned ya away… I don't think I could ever express ta you how awful I feel. I'm so sorry. I know I can never make it up to ya, but I want ta be here for ya now."

She squeezed his hands, willing him to look her in the eyes. "I love you, Remy. I love ya more than I ever thought possible. I was stupid ta let that freak me out. We're soul mates, I know it. We're meant ta be together. I just hope you still feel that way, too."

He swallowed. "Dey're gonna lift m' exile."

"Oh." She stiffened. "So, you're gonna go back down t' New Orleans, then?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Well, t' visit. I was t'inkin', dat if y' weren't done wit' me… I wanted t' be here… wit' you." Looking her in the eyes, saying those words, he wasn't very mad anymore.

She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face against his chest. He held her close, breathing in her scent. He had missed this.

After a moment, she pulled away from him. "So, uh, I made ya a present." She walked over to the bed, picking up the package that she had laid there. "Okay, so **I **didn't exactly make it, but I supervised."

He eyed her curiously. "When did y' have time t' do dat?"

She handed him the package. "I told ya, I didn't go ta sleep last night. Open it."

Slowly, he pulled the paper off. Inside, was an 11x14 canvas. On it, sketched in charcoal, was an exact replica of the photo he brought home from Jean-Luc's office. He felt his eyes begin to pool with tears. It was beautiful.

He had a hard time speaking. "How…"

"Pete did it," she answered. "I noticed last night that ya were holdin' a picture, so I snuck in after ya fell asleep and… well, borrowed it. I woke Piotr up ta ask him ta help me enlarge it on the computer, but he said it'd look better in charcoal, so he stayed up with me and sketched it for ya. He was right, though, it looks amazing. We can get a frame for it later, when… Remy?"

He had stopped listening as the emotions overtook him, and he began to sob. He hadn't cried like this in over a day, since the funeral, but he couldn't help himself. He was mourning, and the sketch Piotr had done did more than just enlarge the picture, it had enhanced it. It showed everything he missed about Jean-Luc, all the memories he wanted to keep, and at that moment, he wanted nothing more than for Rogue to hold him and tell him everything was going to be alright.

She wrapped her arms around him, taking the canvas from him and carefully placing it on his desk as she led him to the bed, laying him down and placing his head in her lap. He sobbed against her as he held her tight. Gently, she ran her fingers through his hair.

"Shhh, baby," she soothed. "Everythin' gonna be alright."

It was just what he needed. He needed her, and he needed this, and he needed to grieve the loss of a man who had been so many different things in his life. But most of those things, they didn't matter anymore. In the end, in his passing, Jean-Luc was only one thing to him. He was his father.

* * *

So, there you have it, the penultimate chapter of 'Normal'! And no, Finn, "penultimate" does not mean "super ultimate", it means "second to last". Yep, you read correctly, there is only ONE. MORE. CHAPTER. LEFT!

(before the sequel, that is)

Sort of makes you want to review, doesn't it?


	22. Come on, Come on

**Disclaimer: Oh my goodness, this is the **_**last **_**disclaimer! Are you legal guys getting a little verklempt? Because I'm getting a little verklempt.**

Wow, I can't believe we've made it to the end, mostly because for so long I had no idea if there would **be **an end! But I found a way to sort of end-cap the story nicely, and now we're here… I'm not an overly emotional person, but having this project come to a close, I'm feeling something. Yeah, there's a little smidgeon of emotion in there somewhere. And that emotion, it's all for my wonderful readers! You've stuck with me through the awkwardness of my first piece of writing after an eight-year hiatus (that's huge, considering I'm not all that old), and I couldn't be more appreciative if I tried. I hope I continued to improve a little on each chapter for you, and here's to the future, right?

In honor of this being the FINAL chapter, I'm not making myself narrow down the **Reviewer Quote(s) of the Week**. I'm just highlighting a bunch of little moments that made me smile:

**Laceylou76**, contradicting herself - _I have nothing to say that is funny, right now. My heart clenched painfully in my chest from the very beginning to the very end_. _My stomach aches, and I think my toe is sore, as well, but I'm not sure if that's because of the story or the fact that I stubbed it before getting on the computer to read this. _

**OiTOTheWorld**'s _**fiancé**_, as specifically noted in the review, quoting Dr. Seuss- _I don't remember the last time I've cried in a movie or even if I ever had, but once I hit the part of Remy looking at the picture of him and his dad-you slayed the beast and I balled my little "three times too small" heart out._

**SaturnianSolitude**, who has obviously never done this with an infant… - _I loved that part where he was sort of kicking the baby--seriously, I thought someone was going to call child abuse._

**Chica De Los Ojos Café**, being all insightful - _You are forgiven.-- […] Jean Luc's last act for Remy. Wow._

**paper. creations**, giving me a serious sundae-craving that lasted for days - _I just love that Logan's grown into a parental-type figure to Remy. […] It's the cherry atop the story, for sure._

**Midnight Wolfy**, as the wise sage, putting so neatly what I was thinking when I wrote the chapter - _And Rogue well... that's life; full of bad timing, misconceptions, and misunderstandings._

**Cartoonfire**, cracking me up and inspiring a line in this chapter - _Lol, it seems like Logan is there every time Remy has to throw up._

And **Heavenmetal**, sharing something very personal and meaningful with me that sort of brought it all home. Thank you. I feel very honored and touched that you would let me be privy to those memories.

Alright, I think this pre-chapter AN is long enough, don't you? Let's get down to business!

* * *

_**Chapter Twenty Two: Come on, Come on**_

_***_

_Untouchable, like a distant diamond sky  
__I'm reaching out and I just can't tell you why  
__I'm caught up in you, I'm caught up in you_

_-Untouchable, Taylor Swift (Luna Halo cover)_

_***_

"_Engaged ta be engaged_. That's just about the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

It was Saturday afternoon, one week before school let out for Christmas, and the entire mansion was buzzing, but not about the upcoming holiday. Scott had taken Jean out the night before for a romantic date and had… 'declared his intentions', for lack of a better term. Simply put, he informed her that he loved her and planned on proposing -- after he graduated from college, that is. That was Scott Summers for you. He was just so Type-A that he had to meticulously schedule and plan-out any and all major life events. The guy probably didn't take a shit without penciling it in his calendar two weeks in advance. The whole thing took away any trace of romance or spontaneity, but Jean didn't seem to mind. She was actually thrilled about the quasi-proposal. She'd been gushing to the younger girls about it all morning. Rogue, unable to stand the rush of girlish excitement that had taken over the mansion, had been forced to hide away in Remy's room, where they were both currently lounging across his spacious bed.

"And Jean just won't shut up about it! _'Oh, it's just the perfect way to do it, don't you think?'. _Perfect my ass. I mean, did he even **do** anythin'?"

Remy hummed thoughtfully as he laid on his back with his head in her lap, his knees bent as she sat cross-legged leaning back against his headboard. "Well, seein' as she don't have a ring on 'er finger, I'm assumin' he didn't get down on one knee or anyt'ing. Kind of pointless wit'out da jewelry." He wiggled his head a little, trying to make its presence known. She was unconsciously ignoring his unspoken request for a head rub, and he was hoping she would figure it out, soon.

"Well, the way everyone's been goin' on about it, ya'd think he threw a lasso 'round the moon and pulled it down just for her. And the worst part about all of this," Rogue continued ranting, "is that now we're all gonna have ta listen ta weddin'-plannin' talk for, what, two years? How long does it take ta get a Law degree? Anyway, apparently that's what makes it so perfect, because '_all the best wedding locations have waiting lists'_. I mean, I knew we'd have ta deal with this eventually, because it's obvious they're gonna get married, I just didn't know the torture would be drawn out for so long."

He smiled as she finally began stroking her fingers through his hair. "Well, it's not like y' **best **friends wit' da girl. Ya probably won't have ta be dat involved."

"Oh no, we're _**all **_gonna be bridesmaids. We were informed of that this mornin'."

He chuckled lightly as he smiled up at her. She was unbelievably cute when she got worked up over something.

"Now, _Chérie_," he began mischievously, "y' sure all dis ain't just _jealousy_?"

That earned him a hard smack upside the head. He laughed as she glared down at him.

"Ya promised when I told ya 'bout Scott that ya wouldn't make fun o' me!" she practically shouted. "I don't go teasin' you about yer old crush on Storm, now do I?"

"I didn't have a 'crush' on Storm," he retorted with a smirk, "I entertained da t'ought of beddin' her. Dere's a difference. Besides, dat was back when I was an Acolyte, before I knew what a tight-ass she could be. Dat woman would be stiff in da sack. 's totally different den you makin' puppy dog eyes at da Boy Scout."

He instantly regretted his words as she crossed her arms in annoyance -- it took her hands from their ministrations on his head. "I did not make _puppy dog eyes_, or the eyes of any other small creature, at Scott. I was just… attracted ta him. I was vulnerable and he represented the ideals of the X-men when I was first joinin' up, an'-- stop **smirkin**' at me, ya jackass! It was just complicated." She sighed in frustration. "Oh, never mind. I'm not discussing this with ya again."

He chuckled heartily, happy when she began running her fingers through his hair once more. "So, if it's not Scott," he continued teasing, "maybe it's dat big ol' wedding dat's turnin' y' green. Dat's it, isn't it, _Chère_? Da ice sculptures, da big white dress, all eyes on you, dancin' 'til midnight, flowers everywhere…"

She rolled her eyes above him. "Oh yeah, that sounds _just_ like me, doesn't it? Honestly, the idea of a big, white wedding is like a nightmare. If I was gonna get married, I'd elope. Go ta City Hall and stand in front of a clerk. Or Vegas. Do some gamblin' an' get hitched in a quick little weekend getaway." She paused thoughtfully, cocking her head to the side. "'Course, with Vegas, ya get people wonderin' whether the whole thing was just a big drunken mistake for the rest of yer life, so maybe not."

Remy sat up lazily. "See, I know dis trick. Ya say dat now, but deep down, dere's a little girl who's dreamin' of string quartets and crystal champagne flutes and lovebirds trained t' spell out y' name in da sky."

She shook her head as she smiled lightly at his description. "No, I mean it. I don't get why people make such a big production out of it, turn it into this whole _event_. It's like they're tryin' ta make a point of it bein' the start of this whole new thing." He leaned back against the headboard next to her, his legs stretched out in front of him as she continued. "I mean, people are always saying '_this is the __**start **__of our lives together' _and '_marriage changes everything'_, but isn't the reason people wanna get married in the first place because they like the relationship they _have, _and want ta make it last forever?" She sighed. "It seems like the whole focus oughta be just ta make it official, take a vow that yer gonna stay together, an' start gettin' some tax breaks."

In a moment, a not-so-dramatic moment, her words stirred something in him. A small smile played at his lips, the decision made as soon as he thought it.

"Do you?"

She looked at him sideways, arching an eyebrow. "Do I what?"

He couldn't hold back his grin. "Do y' like da relationship y' have?

She stared at him in disbelief. He could tell from the look in her eyes that she understood what he was saying. "That seems like a loaded question."

He sat up fully on the bed. "I like da relationship we have. I want it t' last forever." He looked her straight in the eyes. "I wanna make it official, take a vow t' stay together, and start gettin' dose tax breaks."

"Ya don't pay taxes."

"Y' know what I mean."

She swallowed. "Yeah, I do."

He held her gaze. "I know dis is sudden, and it's certainly not like I planned on havin' dis conversation wit' y' dis afternoon, but I know I've t'ought about it." He leaned in, reaching out and carefully tucking her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering by her face. "You feel like home t' me, Rogue, only unlike any home I've ever known."

He let his hand trail down her arm, taking her hand in his when he reached it. He continued. "Whet'er it happens today, or tomorrow, or forty years from now, I don' care; I wanna marry y'. And even if we never got married, I wouldn't care 'bout dat eit'er as long as I still got t' be wit' you. But if goin' down t' City Hall and signin' some papers would mean I could guarantee y' in m' arms f' da rest o' my life, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I'd do it right now."

He searched her eyes as she sat in a stunned silence. She wasn't saying 'yes' … but she wasn't saying 'no', either. That look in her eyes of excited anticipation, the quickening of her breath, and her slightly dropped jaw encouraged him to go on.

"I know I'm not da easiest person t' be wit'," he began as he dropped her hand and turned from her, fluidly sliding off the bed and walking the three steps over to his desk. He fished around in the pockets of his trench coat that hung on the back of the chair as he spoke. "I haven't always been dere f' you… not da way you've been dere f' me. But I want to." He paused, taking out the small ring box that held Aveline's engagement ring. He'd been carrying it around with him for over a month, not for any real reason, but just because he felt like keeping it close.

He turned back to her. She had yet to move from where she sat on the bed. "I'm not runnin' anymore… not from you, anyway. I figured out by now dat all dat does is cause me harm. You're da one t'ing dat makes sense f' me, even when not'ing else does. If I'm runnin', I want you runnin' wit' me." He closed the distance between them, standing next to her beside the bed. He placed the ring box casually in her lap, his eyes locked with hers the entire time. "_Chère_, run wit' me."

His heart stopped -- he hadn't been nervous throughout his entire speech, not once, until now -- as he waited for her answer. Her eyes started to glisten, just a little.

"Yes."

He smiled, his heart beating in his chest once more. "Yes?"

She beamed, her entire face lighting up as her body came alive again. "Yes!" She didn't even look at the ring box -- that was a good sign, he figured -- as she jumped up on her knees, flinging her arms around his neck and kissing him fiercely.

It was remarkably easy to keep it a secret. They filed for a marriage license right away online and gathered the necessary documents -- Remy's fake birth certificate, social security card and driver's license from the lockbox under his bed and Rogue's real ones from the file cabinet in Xavier's office. All that was left to do was to wait the required 24 hours before they could get married, and seeing as the City Clerk's Office wouldn't be open again until Monday, that was an easy feat.

Aveline's ring -- a 4-carat cushion-cut diamond solitaire on a thin, diamond-channeled platinum band -- was **far** too large to be hidden under a glove. Instead, Rogue strung it on a long, silver chain and tucked it under the collar of her shirt, hidden from view but on her body from the moment she received it. It would have been a better way of concealing the ring if Rogue hadn't taken up the habit of frequently touching her fingers to her shirt, checking to make sure it was still there. It was driving Remy crazy. She had no idea how to keep her nervous ticks in check; the girl would make a terrible thief. He had been sure that someone was going to figure it out over Sunday night dinner when she began pairing the action with a sidelong glance in his direction. At one point, Kitty even asked her if she had heartburn. Remy had rolled his eyes. It was good thing they were doing this thing the next day, because pretty soon, Rogue was going to crack.

Monday morning they were up and gone just before the rest of the mansion woke up, stealing away in the dark of the early morning. It was far too cold for his motorcycle, but the roads were still clear due to the late arrival of the winter's first snow, and it was their only option, seeing as all the X-vehicles had trackers on them. Where they were going, they didn't exactly want company. Instead, they bundled up and Rogue clung tightly against him for the two hour trip into Manhattan.

Having arrived early, they were the first in line waiting for the Clerk's Office to open at 8:30. The whole thing was more exhilarating than anything he'd done in the past year. Remy was on a high. It was exciting, like a heist. They were being impulsive and daring and passionate, and he felt more alive than he could ever remember. He was doing exactly what Henri had told him to. He was doing something the he wanted to, because it would make him happy. And Rogue… Rogue looked more beautiful than he ever remembered seeing her. Her entire being just seemed to glow. Her long dark tresses fell against her chest in perfect waves, and with her white streaks framing her porcelain skin, she looked angelic. Her eyes were sparkling and she couldn't stop smiling; he'd never seen her smile so much before. He loved her. He loved being the reason she was beaming.

He couldn't stop touching her, kissing her. And the best part was, she was in almost complete control. He didn't know why, but he wasn't about to question it. He was free to pull her close as they waited in the dark, dingy hallways of City Hall, placing kisses in her hair, on her cheek, her nose, her forehead, her lips. She snuggled into him, in a total bliss herself. They were being obnoxiously affection it, he realized. He didn't care. They were getting married, and he felt just so damn good.

Until the next couple came to wait in line after them.

When he looked at the strangers that came to stand behind them, the grin on his face fell. Looking down at himself, and then at Rogue, his good mood diminished.

"_Chère_," he whispered, pulling her close. "look at us."

She looked up at him from within the circle of his arms. "What're ya talkin' 'bout?"

He sighed, inching them a little further away from the couple behind them and the friends that had accompanied them. "Are we doin' dis right?" he asked. "I mean, look at dose two. Dey're all dressed up. He's got a tux on and she's wearin' a gown."

Rogue shrugged. "I don't wanna wear a gown. I'm happy with what we're wearin' right now."

"Yeah, but," he continued, "_look_ at us! We look like we're goin' t' our funeral, not our weddin'! We're both in black, why da **hell** didn't we t'ink about dis?"

Rogue shrugged, snaking her arms around his waist and giving him a look that said she wasn't about to let him spoil her good mood. "Remy, who cares? This is my favorite hoodie, and ya look good in that sweater. Besides," she added as she fingered the edge of his form-fitting, thin ribbed top, "it's more like a dark charcoal than black."

He scowled. "We should 'ave dressed up."

She shook her head. "I don't like dressin' up."

"I should 'ave bought y' flowers."

"I don't like flowers."

"But," he continued to protest as he glanced at the group behind them, "dey brought friends wit' dem. Shouldn't we have done dat?" He groaned. "We look like idiots here, _Chère_. I'm totally messin' dis up f' you--"

"Remy," she cut him off as she looked up into his eyes. "You're not messin' this up for me, so don't worry about that. Do _you_ wish someone else was here with us?"

He shook his head. "_Non_."

She smiled. "Well, me neither. I like the way we're doin' this. It's somethin' special between just you an' me. We don't need anyone else."

"Actually," a voice cut in behind them. They turned, facing the man from the couple behind them, a sheepish look on his face, "that last part's not exactly true." He paused as they looked at him questioningly. Hesitantly, he clarified. "Um, well, see… you need a witness. That's why we brought our friends."

Rogue's eyes shot to Remy. He looked back at her wide-eyed. "_Merde_."

Ten minutes later, they stood in front of the Clerk with their paperwork in hand and Andy -- the man from the couple behind them and their new best friend (for the sake of the ceremony) -- as their witness. Remy's good mood was back in place. The Clerk, a light-haired, middle-aged man who looked bored with his day already (a sad feat at 8:30 in the morning), looked through their documents.

"Well," he began monotonously, "looks like you've got everything in order, so let's begin." Remy reached to the side to take Rogue's hand. "We are--"

"--I'm not pregnant." Rogue called out all of a sudden.

There was an awkward pause as the declaration settled in the air. Remy's jaw had dropped slightly. The Clerk looked up from his papers, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm not pregnant," Rogue repeated. She paused. "And I'm not drunk, either."

There was another awkward pause.

"Well," the Clerk said, "that's… nice."

Remy looked at her questioningly. "Rogue?"

"I'm sorry," she began sheepishly as she looked to him. "It just hit me all of a sudden, what this must look like, us sneakin' off by ourselves ta do this. I mean, think about it, Remy! What kind of girl goes and gets hitched at City Hall? I don't want this guy," she gestured towards the Clerk, "thinkin' that's why we're doin' this, cuz it's not."

Remy sighed in aggravation as he leaned in. "Now, _Chère_, I want y' t' t'ink about what y' sayin' here. Are you implyin' dat _all _da girls in line back dere -- wit'in hearin' range, I might add -- including da fiancé of our new friend Andy here, who was so gracious as t' volunteer in our time o' need," Andy smiled shyly from his place next to Remy, "are only here cuz dey got knocked up? You start sayin' stuff like dat an' our new friend Andy ain't gonna be our new friend Andy f' very long."

"It's, it's okay," Andy interjected nervously, "I know she didn't mean it like that."

"Shut up, Andy."

"Sorry."

"If I may?" The Clerk cut in. All eyes turned to him. "Miss… Darkholme, is it? You do have a point. In general, most people your age who come in here without any family or friends fall into one of five categories. Now, you already said you weren't pregnant, I can tell that neither of you are drunk, and based on your birth certificates, you're both already American citizens. So that leaves two options." He leaned forward, ticking off the number with his finger. "One, your daddy doesn't approve of Mr. Right over here."

Rogue shook her head. "I never met my daddy."

The clerk gave her a bored, sarcastic smile. "Isn't that special. That means you two must fall into the last category…" Remy, Rogue, and Andy all leaned in, awaiting the answer. The Clerk grinned lightly. "Crazy kids in love."

Rogue smiled, and Remy felt her body soften beside him.

"Now," he continued, "if you don't mind, there's a line forming back there. Can we get started?"

They both nodded in agreement.

The clerk smiled. "Then let's begin."

Only a short, two-minute ceremony later, and they were married. They left City Hall in a flurry of passionate kisses, whisking away on his motorcycle for a short trip uptown to the Ritz-Carlton at Central Park, where their honeymoon suite awaited.

_***_

_But you're untouchable, burning brighter than the sun  
__Now that you're close I feel like coming undone_

_***_

Their first time together was, in a word… intense.

If he was completely honest, as far as sheer physical pleasure goes, it wasn't the best he'd ever had. But in all fairness, Rogue was a virgin, and he'd had some _crazy _sex in his short lifetime. But in the end, that slight physical awkwardness didn't really matter all that much.

By far, it was the most emotionally intimate experience of his life. Rogue had been controlling her mutation all morning, but just in case, he stayed connected to her with his empathy… tightly connected. It was almost overwhelming, the combination of his emotions and hers, and the realization that not only was this _their _first time, but it was Rogue's. He was her first, and he would be her only, and for some reason that he couldn't put his finger on, he loved her just a little more for that. It was simple. There were no flowers, no champagne, no music or candles. Just the two of them, locked together in an empathetic bond that seemed to take over and encompass everything. Yeah, it was intense. He didn't even realize until after it was finished, when Rogue reached up to wipe the tears from his eyes as he hovered over her still, that he'd been crying.

They stayed in bed for the rest of the day. He would have preferred that they remain naked the entire time, but Rogue, still getting used to having so much skin exposed, had insisted on at least putting back on her panties and a t-shirt. Remy didn't let this discourage him, however. He merely hiked up her shirt to where it bunched up under her breasts as he laid on his stomach next to her in his boxer briefs, eating fruit off the bare skin of her taut little tummy.

"Remy," she giggled as he placed a grape atop her belly-button before leaning down to capture it between his lips, "don't ya think it's a little redundant ta take the food off that perfectly decent plate just so you can eat it offa me?"

He swallowed as he grinned up at her. "Not at all, _ma Chérie_." He leaned down, slowly licking the juice from off her skin. She laughed, reaching down to tangle her fingers in his hair.

A damper was put on the moment as Rogue's cell phone began vibrating against the coffee table across the room. She sighed.

"What is that, like the fifteenth call?"

Remy shrugged, one arm slung across her lower body. He ran lazy circles with his fingers around her hip as he continued kissing her stomach. "I stopped countin'…"

"I hope they aren't out lookin' for us--ahhh…" She moaned as his tongue found a sensitive spot on her side.

He let his hand slip around to cup her butt. "Y' said on y' voicemail message dat we're fine and dat we'd be back by tomorrow…" he said lazily as he looked up at her. "Dey'll trust us." He placed another grape on her stomach. "'s probably jus' Logan callin', pissed off dat he don' know where we are or what we're doin', plus da fact dat we took off in da first place…"

She was quiet as he continued showering her bare abdomen with kisses. After a moment, she spoke up softly.

"Remy?"

He stopped, looking up at her. "Yeah, _Chère_?"

She paused, biting her lip before she spoke, the hesitancy apparent in her voice. "Did we make a mistake here?"

He sat up slowly. "Possibly." It was an honest answer. Carefully, he scooted up the bed, coming to rest on his side next to her. "Dat what you t'inkin'… dat dis was a mistake?"

Rogue sighed. "I don't know." She let him take her hand gently as she continued. "I mean, logically, yeah. I only turned nineteen last month, and you had to use your fake id to get us that champagne. And that's besides the fact that both us are, well, **completely **screwed up. We've got major problems, most of them revolvin' around personal relationships, and we just ran off out of nowhere and got married. It seems like a recipe for disaster, if you lay it all out like that." He looked down, his heart sinking at her declaration, just a little, before she uttered one more word. "But…"

He looked up hopefully. "But?"

She smiled shyly, turning onto her side towards him and slipping an arm around his waist. "This _feels_ right. This moment, right here, feels more right than anythin' I've ever known." She leaned into him, resting her forehead against his gently. "I'm comfortable with you. I feel safe with you." She reached up with one hand, tracing the line of his jaw. "Did ya know I haven't been tryin' ta control my mutation?" His eyes shot up to hers in slight astonishment as she continued. "I realized after we made love that I wasn't even thinking' about it anymore."

He looked down at his bare hand on her naked stomach, worry now creeping into his system. "Is dere somet'ing wrong? Is it just not workin' right, or--"

"It works." she cut in. "I tested it on the room service guy when you were in the bathroom. Just grazed him with my finger. He got woozy, an' I found out he's sleepin' with one o' the maids." She leaned into him more fully, snaking one leg around his as she stroked his cheek. She smiled. "It's not my mutation. It's you."

He understood what she was saying, because he felt the same way about her. They were each other's beacon, their safe place in the world. He pulled her close against his body, tilting his head up to kiss her forehead gently. Dropping his head back down, he looked her straight in the eyes as he tucked her hair behind her ears.

"I can't promise I won't do somet'ing stupid." he confessed honestly. "Get scared an' hurt y'."

She held his gaze. "I can't promise I won't push you away."

He nodded slowly. "So… no promises den."

Slowly, she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, tangling her fingers in the bottom of his hair. "Not those, at least. I can promise I'll love ya."

"Oh _Chère_…" he sighed, leaning forward to graze her lips with his. He pulled back enough to look in her eyes. "No matter what happens in our lives, dat's da one t'ing I **can** promise. Always."

They enjoyed the rest of the day -- and night -- together in their room, knowing that their little vacation would soon be coming to an end. The privacy and intimacy of the moment was not something to be taken for granted. It was their time, just the two of them.

Check-out the following morning was at eleven, and after that, they dawdled in the city a little; neither one of them was particularly looking forward to the trip back to the Institute and the shit-storm that would for sure be waiting for them. Remy took her to Tiffany's to get her a small, platinum band with inset diamonds that could be comfortably worn under her gloves, and he purchased a wedding band for himself. Rogue took him around NYU, showing him the campus and where her classes would be next month. They considered taking in a show, but figured that was pushing it a little. As it was, they wouldn't be getting back before four. Reluctantly, they mounted his bike, and made the long, ominous trip back to Bayville.

That shit-storm they had anticipated? Yeah, it was waiting for them, and with its enhanced senses, it heard their motorcycle coming before it reached the front gate.

Logan was standing in the garage with his arms crossed in front of him when they pulled up. As he parked the bike in his usual spot, the feral man seething quietly in his peripheral vision, Remy tried not to panic too much. This was Logan, after all. His drinking buddy, his combat companion, the man who always seemed to be there for him when he needed to throw up. Surely he wouldn't make good on all those empty threats of disembowelment, would he? As he dismounted the bike, he turned to give the man a good look.

'_Merde_'.

Nope, this wasn't "Logan", buddy, companion, and barf-bag holder. This was "Wolverine". Mutant killing-machine. Enforcer of Danger Room sessions. Protector of all young females, but especially the ones he nicknames 'Stripes'. Remy gulped audibly, and with very little dignity. There were few opponents who could rattle him, but damn it if he wasn't just a little bit afraid.

Before either man could move or speak, Rogue hopped off the bike and stepped in front of Remy. Her shoulders were set and her head was held high as she faced her surrogate father.

"Logan, before ya start--"

"--Can it, Stripes," Logan interjected. He grunted, tipping his head back towards the door. "Let's do this inside. It's colder than a witch's tits out here."

Without another word, he turned and walked inside. After only a moment's pause, Rogue grabbed Remy's hand firmly and marched after Logan, dragging her husband behind her. Remy rolled his eyes as they made their way inside. This was a complete disaster. Logan was in Angry-Daddy mode, Rogue was in Defiant-Daughter mode, and he was stuck in Tool-in-the-Middle mode. Yeah, this was going to end badly.

As they approached Jean in the hall, the redhead gave out an excited gasp.

"Oh, you're home!" she exclaimed. As they passed her, she put a hand to her head, closing her eyes momentarily before opening them again. "Okay, I let everyone know you guys are back!" she called out as Logan and Rogue stormed past her with Remy in tow.

By the time they made it to the den, almost the entire team had assembled themselves, with a few stragglers rushing in and finding seats. Logan groaned as he rolled his eyes.

"This ain't a show!" he barked at the students strewn around the room. "Disperse!"

"Like _hell _it ain't a show!" Ray called out with a grin from his place on the couch. "Now make with the fireworks!"

Suddenly, Kurt teleported into the middle of the room in a cloud of smoke. "Did zhey start already?!" Relief washed over his features as he beheld the three main players of the scene standing in the entryway to the den, and Remy with no visible open wounds. "Oh _gut_! Okay, can you just give me like two minutes? I vanna make popcorn."

Logan ignored him, and the rest of the room, as he turned back to Rogue and Remy, his hands on his hips. He growled. "Alright, you two, start explainin'."

Rogue cut Remy off as he opened his mouth to speak. "First off, Logan," she began defiantly, "we're both **adults**. We don't need your permission to do _anythin'_."

"Like hell ya don't!" Logan snarled back. "You live under this roof and you're members of this team. Now, you better start tellin' me where the **hell** you've been or I'm puttin' Cajun shish kabobs on tonight's dinner menu!"

"Logan," the Professor chided as he rolled down the hall towards them with Storm and Hank at his side, "threats of violence are not acceptable, and I hardly think this is the appropriate place for this conversation. Rogue, Remy," he addressed the two, "I'm happy to see you are both safe. Now, if we could perhaps take this into my office--"

"No way, Chuck," Logan intercepted, "I want answers, and I want 'em now." He stepped towards the guilty party, staring them down. "Now, where have you two been?"

"New York," Rogue answered boldly.

"Doing what?" Logan countered.

"Gettin' **married**."

She grabbed Remy's left hand, holding it up to display his ring as an audible gasp was emitted from the room. Everyone went still as they sat in a stunned silence.

Remy rolled his eyes as he snatched back his hand, leaning in to whisper in Rogue's ear. "Y' know, _Chère_, we really need t' work on y' _finesse_."

Storm was the first to recover. "You--You got _married_?!" she stuttered.

'_SNIKT_'.

Apparently, Logan was the second.

Rogue made to step in front of him again, but Remy stopped her before she could. Having his tiny little wife defending his honor was more than a bit emasculating. "Now, Logan," he began carefully as he eyed the feral mutant before him. Logan looked like he was about to pounce. "T'ink about dis before y' gut me: I **married** her. Dat means I wanna be wit' her, take care o' her. It ain't like I dragged her across state lines, got 'er pregnant, and dumped 'er. Dis is a _good _t'ing."

Although he didn't look any less pissed, the statement seemed to appease Logan's immediate need for violence.

Xavier chose this time to speak up. "I must say, this is… quite sudden."

Remy turned to him defensively. "We talked about it, decided we wanted t' do it, so we went down t' City Hall an' got married. Not'in' wrong wit dat."

"Oh my gosh, you guys, like, **eloped**!" Kitty fawned from the far side of the room. "That's so totally romantic!"

Logan rounded on the tiny girl. "Shut it, Half-Pint, don't encourage 'em!"

Bobby raised his hand with a cheeky grin. "Now when you say you talked about 'it', and you wanted to do 'it', you're talking about--"

"**Marriage**." Remy clipped back. "_Merde_, Iceboy, y' ain't helpin' m' cause any…"

Bobby shrugged. "Just enjoying the show."

"This is ridiculous," Logan cut in. "You two **aren't** married."

Rogue crossed her arms hotly. "We gotta marriage license in our bag that says otherwise."

Logan ignored her, turning his head towards the Professor. "Chuck, call that lawyer of yours and have him start workin' up some annulment papers."

"Logan!" Rogue protested. "We ain't getting' an annulment, we're married!"

The older mutant stepped forward, getting in her face. "Just 'cuz two kids get the stupid idea ta run off ta City Hall **don't** make it a marriage."

She narrowed her eyes at him dangerously as she slipped her arm around Remy's waist. "It's been _consummated_."

The room went silent again as everyone waited for Logan's reaction. Remy could have killed Rogue right then. Was she _trying_ to get him sliced?

Surprisingly, Logan's claws stayed sheathed. He didn't shout. He didn't lunge. For a good few seconds, he didn't move at all. Then, for just a moment, something played across his face before he could control it. Remy couldn't help but think that, for that moment, Logan had looked almost… hurt. Without a word, the feral mutant turned, storming out of the room, down the hall, and out the front door, slamming it behind him with a resonate 'BANG'.

Remy groaned as he turned to Rogue at his side. "Was dat completely necessary?"

She took back her arm from around his waist, rounding on him with her hands on her hips. "What, are you sidin'with _him _now, Swamp Rat?!"

He shook his head. "_Non, _I ain't doin' dat, but y' coulda handled dat wit' a little more **tact**, don' y' t'ink?"

She huffed. "I don't like being told what I can an' cannot do with my own life--"

"--An' y' _'don't like bein' pushed in any direction'._" He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I seem t' remember hearin' dat somewhere already."

She glared at him. "Remy Etienne LeBeau…"

"_Rogue_ LeBeau…" he teased. He smirked as she continued to stare him down. She really was cute when her temper got all fired up.

"I think it would be wise," Xavier interjected, "if we all took a little time to calm down before we deal with this situation."

"There's nothin' ta _deal _with," Rogue demanded as she stopped giving her husband the evil eye to turn towards the Professor. "We're married, end of story."

Xavier sighed. "Well, at the very least, there's the matter of your living arrangements to be considered."

"Oh my gosh," Kitty exclaimed, "there's, like, **no** way Gambit's moving into our room!"

Remy rolled his eyes, once again. "Like dat's even an option."

"I think, for now, it would be best for Rogue to simply move with a few of her essentials into Remy's suite until we come up with a more permanent solution," the Professor clarified. He wheeled closer to the couple, his expression softening. "In the meantime, despite my shock and feelings of concern regarding the impulsiveness of this decision on both your parts, I wish to offer the two of you my congratulations." He smiled. "In spite of the drama that it has produced, this is, in fact, a very happy occasion." He looked up, addressing the group as a whole. "Am I correct in assuming that their teammates would agree?"

At that, the room erupted into a chorus of congratulations and felicitations. Remy smiled, throwing an arm around Rogue's shoulders as she produced Aveline's ring from under her collar at Kitty and Jubilee's request. This was the way it should be. As much as he hated to admit it, it made him actually feel… good, proud even, to be given the general approval of their teammates. Even Scott found it in him to shake his hand. Unfortunately, he noticed Kurt acting a little aloof as he lingered in the back of the room as the rest of the group began congregating around the couple. It figured that he'd probably be a little hurt by their secret wedding, but Remy knew they would make it up to him. Kurt and Logan both. The older mutant just needed some time to cool off, he figured. Drink a few beers down at Harry's and get used to the idea. He'd be back by morning. Sure, he'd probably give them hell in the next few Danger Room sessions, but he'd get over it.

After dinner, Rogue packed a duffle bag with a few outfits and other necessities and headed down the hall to the teacher's wing where Remy's room was at.

He was on her as soon as she walked in, shutting the door behind her and pushing her up against it as he attacked her bare neck with his lips. Her fingers curled in his hair.

"Remy… wait…" she panted as he made his way up her neck to suck on her earlobe. "I think… maybe… I oughta--oh yeah, right there… oh…. Wait, I should… unpack…. first… before we--"

"Before we what?" He teased, grinning at her like a Cheshire Cat.

"Before we--mmph!"

He cut her off as he crashed his lips against hers. As the passion and excitement grew between them, Remy was just about to pick up his bride to take her to the bed -- like a proper gentleman -- when a heavy weight was suddenly thrust against his back, propelling him forward. He slammed against Rogue, and consequently the door, with an inelegant 'oof!'. Rogue began giggling as David, the obvious source of the interruption, began licking his ear and the side of his face as he stood up on his hind legs, his gigantic paws pressed into Remy's back. He groaned as he jerked his head away.

"Damn dog!" he cried out in frustration, causing Rogue to laugh even harder. He pushed the dog away as he backed up off of her. "Gonna have t' teach 'im t' make himself scarce when we got important business t' attend to."

Rogue merely chuckled as she bent down to pick up her displaced duffle bag, patting the dog's head as she did so. "Bein' that he's _your_ dog," she teased as she stood up, lacing an arm around his middle, "I'm a little surprised that it wasn't the first thing ya taught him."

As they unpacked the few belongings Rogue had brought with her, they realized that the Professor was right: this living situation was not going to work, long-term. He had cleared a couple of drawers in his dressers and made some room in his closet, but despite that, there just simply wasn't enough space for two people and everything that came with them. But it would do, for now.

They finished by putting away her toiletries in the adjacent bathroom. Very carefully, Remy placed her toothbrush next to his on the counter, perfectly parallel. Satisfied with their positions, he stepped back, standing next to Rogue to admire his work.

"Dere y' go, _mon Amour_," he stated grandly. "You are now officially settled in."

Rogue chuckled at his antics, tilting her head to the side with her arms folded as she observed their perfectly placed dental instruments. "Wow," she teased. "His an' Hers toothbrushes, side by side. How terribly domestic." She grinned as she looked up at him. "We've even got the dog and everythin'."

"Oh, '**we've**' got da dog, _hein_?" he joked, slipping an arm around her waist. "I'm gonna remember dat vow of ownership when he wakes up f' his five a.m. walk tomorrow mornin'."

They stood there, leaning back against the wall and staring at the bathroom sink. _Their_ bathroom sink. It was a peaceful moment before Rogue broke the silence.

"Remy?" He turned his head, looking down at her. "Are you sure this is what you want?" He furrowed his brow at her question as she continued. "I mean, married life, livin' at the Institute, stayin' in one place… it just doesn't seem like you, ya know? It's all so borin' and normal." Hesitantly, she looked up into his eyes. "Is this really gonna make you happy?"

Slowly, he turned towards her, cupping her face gently with both hands as he leaned in, his voice soft.

"Dis makes me happy." He kissed her.

***

_In the middle of the night when I'm in this dream  
__It's like a million little stars spelling out your name  
__You gotta Come on, Come on  
__Say that we'll be together  
__Come on, Come on  
__Little taste of Heaven_

***

* * *

So, there you have it. It's finished. *Happy sigh…*

But, stay tuned for the Sequel---

**The Dance We Do**:

_Sometimes, in life, you can't move forward without looking back. Our Southern Couple take a trip to the Big Easy, where they learn that EVERYONE has a Beginning…_

This one is actually going to have… *gasp* a plot! But, seeing as it's a different format than I'm used to writing, I'm not going to start posting until I have a few chapters written, just so I can get the flow and pacing figured out. That being said, it will be a short hiatus before the story begins. So keep an eye out!

For my last review plea, I have a couple of requests:

1. I would just absolutely **love** to find out how many loyal readers this story really had. Now, all you lurkers out there, the ones who read religiously but never review: I feel you. There's power in obscurity, am I right? But I would just absolutely love love love to know how many of you there are out there. Even if you just wrote "loyal reader" and that's it, it would make my day. It can be anonymous, even. I'm just saying, I'd love to know you're out there, and that you've been reading.

2. For everyone else (or those who fall under the first category, too, I guess): I'm curious, now that we've reached the end, what your favorite chapters are. I have ones that are more beloved than others, and I'm wondering what ones struck a fancy with all you lovelies.

3. Like always, I'd adore hearing your thoughts about this last chapter. Aw, my reviewers, you all rock!


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